Carte Blanche
by Ryyne
Summary: Chronicling the relationship of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. Draco didn't know what to think: first he's told that he's wanted by the Umbridgeesque Ministry, and then Harry Potter manipulatively kisses him. And this is just the beginning. AU as of HBP.
1. Prologue: In Retrospect

**Title**:Carte Blanche

**Author**: Ryyne

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter is not mine (obviously). If you happen to think so, you are clearly delusional. Also, this was inspired by/ (quite) loosely based upon A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens. Any plot elements in common with that brilliant piece of work are, then, not mine.

**Warnings**: Nothing really in this chapter – Just language. Possible slashy hints. **For future reference:** this story will have violence, language, definite slash, and some mature themes. Oh, and did I mention violence? (Rating will likely change.)

**Feedback**: Absolutely! Please! (**Note**: I am also currently searching for a beta. Please, if you have experience with H/D, grammar, and story flow – and are willing to deal with my ubiquitous semi-colons – apply!)

**Carte Blanche**

Prologue: In Retrospect

In retrospect, he considered himself blind and foolish to be so sentimental as to believe that things were over. In retrospect, any sentimentality he had harbored at that time was a mistake; he now knew that once upon the peak of the mountain, there is only one path that can be taken: downwards, into an abyss of lost hope, lost aspirations, lost sentiments.

The waves of blood, and death, and guilt, were sated. It seemed as if nature itself had calmed on the occasion, with a complete absence of breeze, a dull and flat sunshine, the air filled with relieved laughter. It was the end of his seventh year at Hogwarts, and the graduation was all he had expected – disgustingly maudlin, not to mention unbearably dull. What bothered him the most about the occasion, looking back, was the complete lack of concern for what the future might hold. All present – even the teachers – were caught in the moment, the War over, Riddle dead. Harry Potter was once again the Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die, but despite the celebration, he was unenthused.

_Well, _Draco had thought, _What will you do now, Golden Boy? Bask in fame and glory, like the snake that you deny you are? _And Potter raised his head slowly across the aisle, and Draco saw the weariness in Potter's eyes. That moment, that singular but profound glance into Potter's depths, came as a slight shock to the Slytherin. _What, no happy moments? Where's the soppiness and tears, Potter?_

Draco knew, well enough, where the tears were. On hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of cold bodies that lay in the earth. The same earth which was now sprouting new flowers, warmed by the sun, and nurtured by the spring showers: or by the relentless rains of tears which had fallen for months.

Draco also knew – or thought he did – that Potter was a hopeless, angst-ridden hero. His eyes would rake over Potter's thin figure, and dark eyes, and unbidden, sarcastic thoughts would rise into his mind: _Lighten up, Potter – Trying out a new look now? Dark and troubled hero? – The tabloids certainly do take notice. Too bad no one else does –_

Except, Draco did, himself, take notice. Was he the only one who noticed his enemy's – what an empty word, now – state? He, with the luxury of never having to be involved in the War? He, who came into contact with Potter over the last year merely _once_, at his father's trial?

_Draco was lingering in the hallway, back pressed against the dark stone walls of the outer chamber. He could hear the applause, faintly, as the verdict was read aloud. Draco felt sure that his presence in the courtroom was not missed, nor would anyone even take note of it. The cheers and happy sobs rang in his ears._

_'The Jury hereby sentences Lucius Augustus Malfoy to death, by means of the Veil.' The last phrase was nearly lost in the storm of cries and triumphant shouts that began to ricochet off the walls of the chamber. They echoed long afterwards, like a horrible recurring dream. Draco would soon discover how those shouts would permeate his nightmares, haunting him; how those shouts would be soon revived in a ghastly, surreal version of reality._

_As he slumped against the cold stone, Draco wondered whether anyone had any compunction, whatsoever, on sending his father to that Veil, that Abomination. Worse than a Kiss, people had said of it. Inhumane. Cruel and unusual._

_Had his father surrendered so much of his humanity that he was fit for inhumane punishment? Was it fitting, to send a cruel and unusual man to a cruel and unusual death? Did two rights make a wrong – or was it, did two wrongs make a right? Did that omnipotent Jury know about his father's affection for chess, for expensive dark chocolate, for the elegantly lethal nightshade? (Well—maybe the last wasn't the perfect example of his father's humanity.)_

_Lost in his thoughts, Draco didn't notice light footsteps approaching him. Even when the figure's shadow fell upon him, Draco's head stayed down, and eyes half-lidded. His breaths came erratically as his mind tossed and turned and stormed:_

_The Jury hereby sentences Lucius Augustus Malfoy ---- The light of bad faith! ---- to death ---- to Hell! ---- bymeansoftheVeil. ---- The Jury hereby sentences Lucius Augustus—_

_'Malfoy.'_

_'What,' Draco snapped, and after a moment's hesitation, raised his head in order to identify his interruption. Shadowed green eyes stared back at him. 'Wh—Shit!'_

_Potter just looked at him with an unfathomable expression. His entire demeanor nearly made Draco shiver in – what? – anticipation, fear, anger?_

_Potter opened his mouth and some of the shadows receded from his eyes. Draco wondered if maybe, there never was any obscurity in them; maybe, it was a trick of the light; maybe, it was just Draco's wishful thinking that caused a flicker of secrecy, of darkness, of sorrow, to pass across Potter's visage. 'I'm – sorry for your loss.'_

_Draco was dumbfounded, but hastily composed himself into the proper poise of disdain. 'Pardon me, Potter?' He was _sorry?_ What the hell was Potter playing at, anyways?_

_'Your father. I imagine that – that he meant a lot to you.'_

_Not entirely correct, Draco thought, but let him believe that. 'Get to the point, Potter. I don't have all day to listen to your sophomoric pity.'_

_Potter shrugged. 'The point is, I don't like it any less than you do.' He noticed that Draco's sneer intensified, and explained briefly, 'Don't get me wrong – your father was a bastard, no doubt about it. He deserves to be punished.' Draco neither acknowledged this nor refuted it. 'But no one deserves that punishment. The Veil; it's an abomination.'_

_Draco's eyes shifted uncomfortably; it was the subtlest of movements, but Potter took note. He pressed on. 'Trust me, Malfoy, I know. I – someone dear to me lost his life because of the Veil. You have my sympathy, Malfoy, however wrong it seems.' Potter laughed nervously, and ran a hand through his hair, not meeting the Slytherin's eyes. After a moment, he abruptly turned to leave, but Draco's penetrating voice stopped him involuntarily, as if the mere sound rooted him to the ground._

'Your _sympathy? I don't _need_ your sympathy, Potter. I don't need anyone's sympathy.' Draco was shaking with rage, or fear, or sadness; he wasn't sure which, looking back. And when Potter turned to face him, the look of pure empathy, and pity, and _compassion_, on his face, nearly sent Draco over the edge._

'_Maybe you don't, Draco. Maybe.' And Potter left quickly, without another word, or even a look backwards at Draco, who had slumped back onto the wall, breathing heavily and angrily, his poise utterly ruined. -----_

And Draco found, in the months after, that it was quite impossible for him to ignore Potter as he did before. Potter was a paradox wrapped in an enigma: a hero of the light, a sympathizer with the dark, the epitome of unprincipled principles, of responsible irresponsibility, of hateful love and loving hate.

Draco could simply not understand Harry Potter.

Which was why, on Graduation, he resolved to confront Potter. He didn't know why, exactly; but Draco was just itching to get under Potter's skin, just as Potter had done to him several months ago in that dark and dismal hall. Draco needed a sense of finality to the incident; he needed the last word, a blow to the unshakeable Potter.

After the ceremony, he waited near the entrance to the Great Hall, in hopes to snatch Potter away from the crowd without notice. Indeed, as Potter swept by him, head down, hair obscuring his eyes, Draco swiftly and aggressively grabbed his arm and pulled him to the side. Ignoring Potter's exclamation of outrage, Draco cornered him in the unlit section of the intermediate passageway. The Slytherin – previous Slytherin; he wasn't a part of Hogwarts, anymore – made certain to block anyone's view of Potter as he pushed him to the wall, Draco's hands on Potter's shoulders.

'Malfoy, what the bloody hell!—' Draco roughly covered Potter's mouth with his right hand, the left still gripping Potter's shoulder forcefully. Incendiary green eyes narrowed into intense slits.

'Shut it, Potter. Just listen.' Draco paused, and the tension in Potter's eyes seemed to dissipate, delicately, like the wispy gray smoke of a smothered fire. Draco took this as a sign for him to continue. 'Why'd you say it?' After a second, a muffled sound came from beneath Draco's hand. 'What? Oh,' Draco removed the offending appendage from Potter's mouth.

Potter's lips were pulled in a tight, red line, Draco observed. Then, in horror, Draco snapped his gaze to Potter's forehead. Much better. Oh, wait – Potter's talking.

'Say what, arsehole?'

Draco quivered in frustration. 'About – about the Veil, Scarhead. About my father.'

Suddenly, as if by transfiguration, Potter's demeanor morphed. The green eyes softened, the lips relaxed, and opened. His cheeks lost a bit of the flaming red hue. 'Why? I don't know, Malfoy. I didn't really have a reason. Should I have had one?'

'Yes!' Draco cried in frustration, and his grip on Potter's shoulders strengthened. How could Potter be so – so infuriatingly fickle, so unbelievably illogical, so insanely _quixotic_? Don't need a reason, my arse. What was he, King of the Known World? Could he do anything he _pleased_, just for the hell of it? Draco clenched his jaw in thinly-veiled aggravation, and forced himself to not inflict bodily harm on Potter until he had gotten what he wanted.

Potter just kept _looking_ at him, with an unreadable expression – more like a façade; Draco was sure it wasn't an expression in and of itself, but a blank mask, hiding something deeper, more profound. His nose a firm, straight line; his lips, relaxed, not thin nor full; his cheeks, an healthy pink; his eyes, sea-green, calm, but with unmistakable depth: Draco didn't want this tranquility. He wanted Potter furious, enraged, with flames licking at the corners of his _Avada Kedavra_ eyes, provocative and passionate. Something about this vast sea of nothingness bothered him; it was too reminiscent of _himself._

Draco thought his eyes were dull. No, no; not dull – unfeeling, blank, cold. Dull was unexciting; Draco's eyes had a definite element of _je ne sais quoi._ Certainly not lackluster: they were the color of lustrous steel, too dark to be silver, but too light to be paled ash. Yet it must be admitted that Draco's eyes rarely held emotion. They were a purposeless blank slate, never to be written upon.

As Draco's empty eyes bored into Potter's, a flush began to creep up Draco's neck, and he unwillingly turned his head away, just a fraction of a centimeter, but noticeable all the same. Potter sighed, and said with a small, unhappy smile, 'I don't know, Malfoy. Why does anything happen the way it does? Why did Voldemort die, and not me?' He bowed his head, and black hair covered his features like a thick woolen blanket. 'I don't know why I do anything, anymore, Malfoy. It's useless to ask.' Draco could feel a small storm brewing within the calm eyes, and a wave of anger splashing over Potter. Anger at himself, though; not at Draco – this isn't helping, Draco thought. Potter's as screwed up and confusing as ever.

_But somehow fascinating, _a part of his mind said.

_Yes, like how morbid, animalistic murders are fascinating. Exactly like that._

Beyond unnerved, both because of himself and because of Potter, Draco released his hold of the other boy. Man, actually, now that they had graduated.

'Potter, don't be an idiot. Riddle died because you killed him; he was weak.'

'And I was strong?' Potter asked, with a small smile (or was it a smirk?), glancing up through his eyelashes.

Draco was flustered – what the hell kind of game was Potter playing? Again? Dear Merlin, would Potter never _cease?_ The angular edges of his cheekbones took on a vaguely ruddy tint as he answered, 'I'm sorry; did I say that?' Without waiting for a response, Draco continued, his demeanor becoming playfully condescending. 'No, I don't believe I did, Potter. You do tend to assume, don't you?'

'I know, I know; it makes an ass out of you and me. Shut it, Malfoy. Why'd you call him 'Riddle''?

Draco could hardly believe this. He and Potter – _Potter, _of all people! – were forming friendly rapport. Draco turned his back to Harry, and looked outside the great glass windows. It didn't seem as if Hell was freezing over.

This certainly wasn't going as planned.

'Why not call him Riddle? It was his name, wasn't it?'

'Well – I suppose – but that was before –'

Draco raised an eyebrow. 'People never lose their names, Potter. One's identity is vital. You, of all people, should know that.'

'Yes, but – Well – even people who weren't afraid of him called him 'Voldemort.' Why Riddle, and not that?'

'It's not his name, Potter. I don't fucking _care_ what other people call him, alright? He was Tom Marvolo Riddle, the deranged, hooded, broken man that came to dinner. He's not some ethereal being, Potter. He was, at some time, a human.' Draco sneered. 'The most pathetic example of a man I've ever met, but a man nonetheless.

'I don't say Riddle because I'm not – I wasn't – afraid of him, Potter. Quite the contrary, in fact. I say Riddle because that's who he was, and what he was. His followers certainly considered him some Marvelous Riddle.'

Potter was staring at him openly, now, with waves of confusion in his eyes. Draco suppressed the urge to shake him to his senses. Honestly – Potter, intelligent? Was this some cruel joke of the cosmos? Why was Draco telling him this?

'His name is essential, Potter. Anyone's name is. It's a key, so to speak. Don't you ever wonder why Unspeakables are called that? One's identity is a powerful thing,' Draco repeated. Potter simply kept gaping – out of surprise, or confusion, or shock, Draco didn't know. He rolled his eyes upwards, thanked the gods for never having to see the imbecile again after today, and then brought his gaze down, directly into Potter's.

'If you don't understand now, you never will – Harry.' And he walked away, never to lay eyes upon the Gryffindor again.

Yet, in retrospect, things rarely go as planned; or even as hoped. In retrospect, the outwardly calm sea was shaking in its bowels; and the sun stifled its jaded shine; and the sea grew cold; and rolling swells were to form, pregnant with perilous potential.

In retrospect, he would see Harry again, and, in retrospect, it would the best – and worst – thing that ever happened to Draco Malfoy.

_The light of bad faith…_

**TBC…**

**Reminder**: Please note that I am looking for a beta! Contact me (e-mail in profile) and/or leave a review (preferably both – and even if you're not interested in beta-ing, please review! Quite an easy task, you know…).


	2. La Luz

**Title**:Carte Blanche

**Author**: Ryyne

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter is the wonderful work of J.K. Rowling. Also, this was inspired by/ (quite) loosely based upon A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens. Any plot elements in common with that brilliant piece of work are, then, not mine.

**Warnings**: Language.

**Feedback**: Yes! (**Note**: I am also currently looking for a beta. Please, if you have experience with H/D, grammar, and story flow – and are willing to deal with my ubiquitous semi-colons – apply! E-mail me at rineko chan yahoo . com . (remove the spaces))

**Note**: Title and summary were changed!

**Carte Blanche**

Chapter One: _La Luz_

The twenty-two year old Draco Malfoy apparated into the Spanish pub on a warm, August night. Running a hand through his hair, and letting it settle naturally over his matured features, he approached the bar casually, and signaled the bartender with a quick flick of the finger. Instead of requesting a drink, however, the young man briefly talked in low tones, and the bartender subtly gestured to a darkened corner of the pub.

With a nod of appreciation, Draco nimbly waded his way through the crowd, and approached the three figures sitting at a small, circular table. Reaching into his trouser pocket with his left hand– keeping his wand hand free – he withdrew a miniscule silver cigarette lighter. Bringing it to his lips, he lit a cigarette, which had suddenly appeared dangling elegantly from his mouth. He was dressed plainly, with few distinguishing pieces of clothing, especially considering the fact that he was in a pub at midnight: Worn black tweed trousers, a wine-red button-up shirt, and leather jacket.

One of the shadowed heads rose, and a face looked at him, inspecting. The man had combed dark hair, glinting eyes, and a slightly crooked nose. He had likely broken it some time ago.

'_Perdón – Señor Luz_?' Draco's head quickly turned to the man, and he casually removed the cigarette from his lips.

'_Sí? Y usted es…_?'

The man's mouth curved upwards. '_Señor Negocio – sólo Negocio. Entiende, no_?'

Draco cocked his head, and matched the smirk of Negocio. '_Pues – muy bien, entonces.'_

Satisfied, the man looked around – more than a little furtively – and motioned Draco to come closer. '_Podremos hablar inglés, aquí. Es mejor; entiende_?'

Draco curtly bowed his head in a gesture of acknowledgement, while the twisted smirk remained. 'Of course, Señor.' The cigarette was still nestled between his fingers, burning softly. Although the older man seemed, to any bystander, the alpha male of the two, in reality it was Draco who carefully played the puppet strings. Draco's manner was always flawlessly polite and modest; he rarely created discomfort in his so-called 'business meetings.' The Señor knew this – he knew that Draco was the true dominant factor. Beneath the meek exterior, there was a constant smirk, a constant threat.

As the two conversed quietly in English, as to not be overheard, the other two men at the table seemed to guard the secrecy, with roving eyes and intent expressions. Within fifteen minutes, Draco rose abruptly from the wooden chair, brusquely put out the cigarette on the table, and thanked the other men with a satisfied, '_Gracias_.' He began to walk away, yet unexpectedly, the crooked-nosed man called after him.

'_Por qué Luz, Señor_?'

Draco turned around, and his eyes seemed two dark whirlpools, stormily swirling with emotion. Outwardly, however, there was no indication of Draco's distress. '_Por qué ? Porque no es la verdad, Señor. No soy la verdad; por eso, soy la Luz._'

As the man rose in confusion and motioned to Draco to stay, Draco apparated away, his fingers tightly clutching dull gold galleons.

* * *

Back in his London apartment, Draco threw his jacket on the bed, hesitated for a moment, and then furiously began opening his kitchen cupboards after dropping the gold in a small jar. After ransacking half his kitchen, Draco laid his head on the cold tile counter, hands clenched, chest heaving.

"God…Fucking…_Business_!' He slammed a fist on the tile, and ignored the blunt pain that blossomed up his arm and into his fingers.

Draco lived alone, which was unsurprising; what _was_ surprising was that he lived alone in an apartment in muggle London. He hadn't always: until he was twenty-one, he had lived in Hogsmeade, close to Diagon Alley and the Potions shop at which he had apprenticed. A year ago, however, he had quit his job – much to the dismay of his boss, who had offered him a large increase in wage in order to keep Draco working there – and moved to his current flat.

Magic could go haywire, at times, in the middle of muggle London, but Draco had learned to live without the constant use of a wand. Potions were more his specialty: he depended on potions for everything from headache relief, to detergent, to glamour brews. Draco didn't understand how the art of magical chemistry was so overlooked in many wizards' daily lives – most used charms and other wandwork; yet one could achieve just as much, maybe more, without a wand. In Professor Snape's words, Draco could, with a few choice ingredients, 'bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death.'

But glory and fame weren't what Draco desired. How could he, when he lived secluded in a muggle flat? Draco wanted riches, perhaps, and power to gain those riches; but it was a far cry from wanting coarse publicity and bland fame. In fact, the last thing he craved was publicity: he was, in effect, 'off the map' in muggle London. The Ministry laws had little to no effect on him, and he lived more by muggle government laws – with good reason, Draco thought, what with the Ministry's recent crack-down…

Draco raised his cool forehead off the counter, and sighed. Reaching up into the last cupboard opened, he withdrew several small jars of clear liquids, and holding them under his arm, padded morosely to his couch. After setting the jars on the table in front of the sofa, Draco carefully unscrewed them, and poured a bit of each liquid into the tops of the jars that lay on the table.

Once he had mixed particular amounts of each liquid into a separate beaker, Draco gently stirred it with a small metal rod. He inspected it with a quick glimpse, and then purposefully strolled to his kitchen, lit his kitchen stove, and swiped a quill through it, and after turning the stove off, grabbed a piece of parchment and sat back down on the couch.

Dipping the sterile quill into the clear, placid liquid, Draco began to scratch invisible words, or symbols, onto the parchment. He stopped after two lines, bent the paper slightly towards the light so that the wet, glistening ink became vaguely detectable. Nodding at the paper with approval, he then scratched a couple more lines of writing, and set it aside to dry. He topped the jars again, set them in the back of the cupboard again, and was about to stopper the leftover 'ink' in a thin vial when there was a sharp knock on his door.

Draco very rarely had visitors, so he nearly dropped the vial in his surprise. 'Who the hell…?' He murmured, and, stoppering the vial and putting it in a drawer, went to open the door.

* * *

'Harry, you realize that this is an essential connection that we can't ignore.' 

'I know that, Remus, but it doesn't change the fact that – you should get another person on this one.'

Remus Lupin took off his glasses, and leaned closer to Harry Potter, with a small smile on his wise, kindly face. 'On the contrary, Harry, you are the perfect person for this. You are precisely who I need – who we need.' The dim light in Grimmauld Place played off Remus' pupils, and they seemed to shine with intelligent anticipation.

Harry rested his fingers on the bridge of his nose wearily. 'Rem… Please don't pull the 'duty trip' on me. You know I hate that.'

'I know, Harry, but that doesn't mean it doesn't work,' Remus said with a knowing grin.

Harry narrowed his eyes at his current mentor and friend. After Sirius' death in Harry's fifth year, Professor Lupin had inherited Grimmauld Place, and Harry had moved in with him after the War's end. However, in the past six months, Grimmauld Place once again regained an activist use, Remus being the _ad hoc _leader. As the place revived its inherent secrecy, it was unpractical for Harry to continue living there – he felt something like a prisoner in a hidden location. Hence, his move to a flat in Hogsmeade, near Hogwarts and its available resources – especially the ubiquitous floo lines, which gave him easy access to Remus for 'business meetings.' There was a downside, though, Harry thought, to his close friendship with his former professor and pseudo second godfather: Remus knew him _much_ too well.

'Sometimes, Rem, I despise you.'

Remus just shrugged, a demurely bemused expression still gracing his features, and leaned back in his chair.

* * *

Late at night – or, rather, extremely early in the morning – Harry apparated to the apartment complex in London. It was a large, gray building, and rather dull; however, it was relatively well-kept, and not dilapidated whatsoever. He surveyed it with reluctant interest, then sighed in resignation, and entered the complex. After climbing several flights of stairs, he located flat number 44. 

It was so anticlimactic, Harry thought, looking at the door. Somehow, he had foreseen something a bit more – well, _intriguing_. The blank white door was a bit of a let-down, really. This was _the_ Draco Malfoy's home? Harry wasn't sure what he had anticipated, but it was surely something involving green, silver, and torture chains. Possibly an abstract art deco blood splatter decoration.

Well. White. This was... unexpected.

Bracing himself, Harry took a deep breath – _calm calm calm –_ and knocked firmly. He could barely hear soft footsteps coming to the door – _what, no furious stomping, no arrogant swagger?_ -- and the doorknob turned, and the door opened. It didn't just open a crack, but all the way (_Malfoy has no sense of caution_); and Harry found himself standing uncomfortably in front of Draco Malfoy.

The other man's gray eyes narrowed instantly to slits, and he stepped back as if by reflex, although maintaining impeccable composure. 'I'm afraid you have the wrong number,' Draco said. He then waved a hand, as if to swat a fly, or shoo a dog. 'Most definitely the wrong number.'

'Unfortunately, no,' Harry said with a humorless chuckle. 'Let me in.'

The gentle moonlight softly kissed Draco's features, and created a delicate glow about the mouth and forehead. However gentle the moonshine was, though, Draco's demeanor was as harsh and acrid as he remembered it to be.

Harry's mouth suddenly felt dry and fuzzy. _What have I gotten myself into...?_

Draco stepped forward, and within an instant, his poise went from detachedly arrogant to threateningly intense. 'Potter – yes, I know it's you, idiot – damn green eyes – if you think I'm going to let _you_ in to _my_ home, you're sorely, irrevocably mistaken.'

'Sorry, Malfoy,' Harry replied with a dry, lopsided smile, 'Higher orders. Let me in.'

Harry noticed suspicion taint the moonlit gleam in the other man's eyes. 'Orders from who, Potter,' he spat. 'No matter how much you think I'm a foot-kissing Deatheater, I don't take orders. From anyone,' he added.

The former Gryffindor sighed. This wasn't going to be easy. 'Malfoy, look – I'd rather not discuss this out in a open hallway, where anyone could hear,' Malfoy glanced around, nearly imperceptibly, 'So can you just let me in, for a few minutes – then I promise I'll get the hell out of here. Trust me,' he added, 'I won't want me here any more than you do.'

Draco looked at him for what seemed a decade, then grudgingly turned around, and allowed Harry to enter. With his back turned to Harry, Draco told him quietly, 'I only trust what you're saying is true because you're a Gryffindor.'

'Thanks, I think,' Harry replied.

Once they came to Draco's living room, Draco asked Harry if he wanted a drink. Harry declined, politely, saying that he wouldn't drink anything Draco offered him to save his life. In fact, Harry said dryly, but without malice, anything Draco served to him would likely kill him.

'If you think so,' Draco responded, with a small smirk. 'Now, what in bloody hell brought you here? I don't do small talk, Potter.'

'I noticed.' Draco raised a fine, blonde brow. Harry continued. 'Malfoy, you know of the Ministry's new orders, correct?...'

'Yes.'

'And _I _know that you're not, in fact, a Deatheater, despite popular opinion.'

Malfoy's back straightened, then tensely arched. He rather resembled a frightened cat. 'How the fuck do you know that?' He hissed.

'Doesn't matter. The fact is, I know. But I also know that you're not exactly working for the Ministry, am I right?' Harry didn't wait for an answer: 'I am. So – to make it brief, I came here to both inform you and make a proposition.'

'Really, Potter, didn't know you swung that way.'

Harry's eyes widened, and a red blush spread over his cheeks broadly. 'Don't be immature, Malfoy, you know what I mean,' he muttered.

Draco smirked. 'Of course, Potter. It's just that, humiliating you is still as amusing as always.'

'Great,' Harry muttered. 'Remus, you're so dead.'

**TBC...**

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* * *

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**Translations:**

'_Perdón – Señor Luz_?' : 'Pardon me – Mr. Luz?'

'_Sí? Y usted es…_?' : 'Yes? And you are...?'

'_Señor Negocio – sólo Negocio. Entiende, no_?': 'Mr. Negocio – only Negocio. You understand, no?'

'_Pues – muy bien, entonces.' : '_Well – very well, then.'

'_Podremos hablar inglés, aquí. Es mejor; entiende?' :_ 'We will be able to speak in English, here. It's better; understand?'

'_Gracias.' :_ 'Thank you.'

'_Por qué Luz, Señor_?' : 'Why Light, Señor?'

'_Por qué? Porque no es la verdad, Señor. No soy la verdad; por eso, soy la Luz._' : 'Why? Because it's not the truth. I'm not the truth; so, I'm the Light.'

**Important note: **'Luz' is 'light'; 'Negocio' is 'business.'

Sorry if I completely mauled the translation work and whatnot: I'm not quite fluent in Spanish, yet, and it may sound awkward.

**Still in need of a beta! Also, this story will be done in small increments, but they will come out relatively quickly (I hope). It's better that way, so I don't become disappointed with my progress, somehow.**


	3. Desperate Measures

**Title**:Carte Blanche

**Author**: Ryyne

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter is the wonderful work of J.K. Rowling. Also, this was inspired by/ (quite) loosely based upon A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens. Any plot elements in common with that brilliant piece of work are, then, not mine.

**Warnings**: Language is a given. Confusing discussions and way too much plot. And slash!

**Feedback**: Yes, please!

**Note**: Thank you all for your reviews! And no worries, much will be revealed soon... in this chapter, in fact. Although I rather enjoy keeping readers in the dark for a while... heheh. **Much thanks to my awesome beta, Beth!**

**Carte Blanche**

Chapter Two: Desperate Measures

The wine was the color of burgundy velvet, of dark red roses, of blood. The harsh artificial lighting of the room created a slight glimmer off the top of the liquid; it was not a soft glow, like the moonlight on Draco's skin, but a sharp, unauthentic sparkle. The light penetrated the glass, and formed abstract patches of color within the drink: if the glass moved, the little patches warped and danced sensually. It was a malleable sort of light; unlike that of the sun, or moon, which shone when it pleased, without interference.

This was a stark contrast to Draco Malfoy, Harry observed. Malfoy was like a force of nature: unstoppable, unpredictable, to be reckoned with. He was the stinging hail, the bitter ice, the oh-so-real wind. And yet – Malfoy was also new snowfall, with his nearly white, impeccable hair, pale skin, and thin, graceful brows. His eyes, though: his eyes were the most natural thing about him. Harry considered this. They weren't like ice; no, not at all. They were not transparent, but rather the opposite: perhaps steel, or flint.

_Or a recyclable tin can_, Harry told himself.

Draco set down the wine glass on the coffee table. He was sitting comfortably on his couch, with Harry in a chair opposite. The mood was tense and unnatural, like the flat's lighting.

'So,' Draco said, focusing his gaze on the other, 'What do you have to say?'

Harry shifted in the seat. 'Well... –'

'Just cut to the chase. I don't have all day – or night.'

Licking his lips, Harry began again: 'Okay, but let me just give you a bit of background here.' _Easy does it, Harry._

Draco shrugged, and Harry took that as a sign to continue. _Finally, we're getting somewhere._

'As you know, about a year ago, the Ministry appointed a new Minister of Magic, Maura Blackwell.' Draco rolled his eyes, as if to say, _Are you daft? Why are you telling me this? _Harry ignored him pointedly and went on. 'Within two months of her appointment, new laws were instated in order to, ah... procure the elimination of any and all Dark activity still occurring.' Draco nodded, looking bored. 'Although the general public was in favor of these laws, they soon became – well –' Harry hesitated, trying to find the right wording. '– Excessively fervent.'

Draco snorted, but otherwise remained quiet.

'Even though I used to be the champion of the Light, or whatever,' Harry rolled his eyes, 'And people expected me to be the last to complain, but ever since – well, never mind –' a slight blush stained his cheeks, and Harry cleared his throat. 'I met once with Blackwell. I tried to get her to be more reasonable, before things got out of hand. Like they are now,' he added. Draco shrugged, but Harry could tell he agreed.

'She wouldn't budge, a bit. Then – after the anti-Werewolf legislation – Remus approached me to enlist my help to form resistance against the Ministry. He was in hiding by then, you know – trying to avoid,' Harry's eyes flamed, 'Extermination.'

Draco spoke for the first time in several minutes. 'That's understandable.'

Harry nodded. 'McGonagall also met with Blackwell, but nothing came out of it.' _If only Dumbledore was still alive. _'And so, here I am, caught in the middle. It's like the War never even ended, really – just evolved, a bit. It's actually worse now,' Harry chuckled bitterly. 'Both sides are maniacal. The Ministry is completely out of control – innocent people being killed for Dark crimes they didn't even commit – Death Eaters are more vengeful than ever – it's just... it's like _Revolution_.'

Draco smirked, and shrugged. 'War and Revolution go hand-in-hand, Potter. Look at history; both magical and muggle. War causes cultural tension; hence, revolution. It can't be stopped.' _All you can do is try to survive._

Harry rubbed his forehead and smoothed his hair compulsively. By now, it was a reflex, formed through awkward adolescence and matured in the years of traumatic stress following. 'Maybe so, but they said Voldemort couldn't be stopped, and here he is, dead, and here I am, alive.'

Draco picked up the glass of wine. He was slipping into business mode, where he was in passively dominant. Comfortably nestled on the couch, legs crossed, practically yawning in nonchalance, but at the same time intently listening and only speaking when absolutely necessary. He took a calculated sip and then spoke again. Draco loved this feeling of control, of capability, of authority. 'Riddle was human, Potter. He was a crazed individual. Crazed individuals, like bad movie villains, have weaknesses; crazed groups are harder to exploit.'

Harry leaned forward, putting his elbows on the coffee table. 'Well, then we just need to get at Blackwell, according to your logic. Right?'

'I suppose.'

'You suppose?'

'Even if we did, the zeal of the Ministry wouldn't just die out. Look at the Death Eaters. They still have the ideology intact, all they need is a powerful centralizing force to get themselves mobilized.'

Harry seemed to be mulling this over. 'So,' he smiled, and crossed his legs: he resembled Draco uncannily. 'What you're saying is, a highly organized group focused on the same goal is the most difficult to overcome?'

'Yes,' Draco said, becoming slightly suspicious of Harry's new confidence.

'Since you have somehow been able to – what? Elude? -- the Deatheaters, and considering the you are not on the Ministry's good side, either –'

Draco laughed. 'Potter, surely you're not inviting me to join your little amateur tea-party.'

'Er – well –'

'Good Lord. You're that desperate.' Draco didn't leave room for argument.

Harry shrugged, 'Perhaps. But I'm not the one actively wanted by the Ministry, now am I?' He smirked at Draco's wide, gaping eyes; the expression that told Harry he was now at an advantage.

'Are _you_ that desperate?'

* * *

_Tap tap tap. _Remus Lupin drummed the slender, white quill against the kitchen table in Grimmauld Place. It was his favorite quill, and a relatively ancient one too: he remembered using it while grading term papers during his teaching stay at Hogwarts. Harry's practical _The Effects of the Patronus_, Hermione Granger's highly analytical _Modern Politics and Dark Creatures_, and – strangely enough – he could vividly recall Draco Malfoy's _Psychology of the Dark Arts. _Although the boy had just been in third year, the essay had been concise, insightful, and extremely fascinating.

_It is widely known that it is not simply a blind assignation that makes a spell "dark," but rather, the intention behind the spell. For example, even if one preformed the correct spellwork and incantation, _Avada Kedavra_ would not kill the victim unless the perpetrator harbored deep-rooted hatred for him or her._

_However, one not only needs hatred. The victim must be dehumanized, or brought to a lower level, by the perpetrator. This is why, in a practical demonstration, a person may _Avada Kedavra_ a mouse, it being non-human. This emotional detachment in regards to the victim is paramount to a successful application of a spell such as the Unforgivables._

And then, in a tiny, barely legible scribble at the end, which Remus wouldn't even had noticed had he not had enhanced lycanthropic vision:

_And this is why I will never be capable of harming Harry Potter._

Remus had always suspected a sort of twisted mutualistic relationship between the two: their antagonism didn't remind him at all of Lucius Malfoy and James' relationship, or even Severus and James'. It was a motivating force; they pushed each other to greater heights through competition. Harry may have beaten Draco at Quidditch, in public, but it was clear that Draco was superb at academia. Remus even considered Draco a generally better student than Hermione, as her wandwork and practical spells were somewhat lacking at times, whereas Draco was consistently excellent at everything he attempted.

It wasn't hatred at all. It was ambitious dislike, or even reluctant envy, sometimes. It was obvious that Draco was wildly jealous of Harry when they were children.

Yes, the two had a definite, profound connection that had propagated over the years. It would be interesting indeed, Remus thought, to see how this would pan out.

He certainly wouldn't want to be Harry right now.

* * *

'You know what, Potter? _Fuck. You. _I don't need your sympathy, I don't need your help. I can take care of my own business. _Entiende?_'

'Sure, I understand, Malfoy. So, besides the fact you didn't even know the Ministry is seeking to try you for treason –'

'-- You're delusional –'

'And you're _too damn arrogant _to even _admit_ that you might just _possibly_ be at a tiny disadvantage here!'

'So what if I am arrogant! Confidence is a necessary thing, Potter. A Malfoy is never insecure.'

Harry glared at him openly. He honestly didn't know why or how Malfoy could get under his skin so easily – he shouldn't even _give_ a damn about the bastard! 'Don't give me that Malfoy heritage shit. Your father was killed because of it; or don't you remember?'

Instantly, Harry realized he had crossed a sacred and forbidden line. Draco's eyes had narrowed to hot slits and his jaw was clenched tightly. Harry had never seen him so incensed, or – well – _passionate_, before.

'Potter, get out.'

'Wait – I didn't mean that, Malfoy –'

'Of course you did; don't be stupid. Get out.'

With a sigh, Harry ran a hair through his disheveled, angry hair, and stood up. He could feel a fiery feeling in the pit of his stomach, and tightening in his chest: it rather felt like heartburn, actually. On impulse, he swiped Draco's glass of wine, and downed the rest, tossing it onto the floor where it shattered. Draco had stood immediately, and was now less than a foot away from Harry, spitting fire.

'_Potter! What in bloody hell are you doing?'_

Harry shrugged, and turned to leave. 'You didn't need any more alcohol, anyway.'

'_That wine was damn expensive, I'll have you know! And you got spatter on my carpet!'_

Harry rolled his eyes. Draco was worried about a wine stain more than being on the federal 'Wanted' list? 'Fine, if you really want it back,' Harry smiled, and before Draco could even blink, had tilted his head, and Draco saw for a second the veneer of pure contempt in his eyes as he swiftly brushed his loveless harsh lips against Draco's.

(_Sour taste of wine a passing puff of alcohol-tainted breath Illicit Noble Remember Draco the Malfoy name Remember me Draco the Light of Bad Faith But what is Faith? Warm softness bite of bitter hope Despair Paradox wrapped in an Enigma _Harry_ Remember: Draco Malfoy MALFOY. LUCIUS AUGUSTUS MALFOY)_

And Draco pushed him violently away and wiped his lips. He could feel this intense hatred curdling his insides –

And Harry apparated.

That bastard.

**TBC...**

**Note**: Yes, it is confusing (I think...sigh). It's confusing for a reason, though... And yes, it is going fast, you might think... But they still would like to murder each other, don't worry.


	4. Confusion and Obsession

**Title**:Carte Blanche

**Author**: Ryyne

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter is the wonderful work of J.K. Rowling. Also, this was inspired by/ (quite) loosely based upon A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens. Any plot elements in common with that brilliant piece of work are, then, not mine.

**Warnings**: Mild Slash. Language. HavingIssues!Draco.

**Feedback**: Please! Anyone!

**Note**: I love Remus... And, of course, my beta **Beth** is awesome too! (cheers and waves flag)

**Carte Blanche**

Chapter Three: Confusion and Obsession

Two weeks passed like two years, and Draco hid away in Nice, France, enjoying weekend trips to Paris and the conduction of successful business. And hating Harry Potter.

Not that that was important – not that Potter was important. Potter was the scum on the bottom of Draco's leather dress shoe; a mild irritation, and something a bit difficult to scrape off, but certainly nothing to be obsessive about.

Right?

Right.

In reality, though – beyond Draco's denial binges – Harry Potter was like a rash: the more Draco itched it, the more agonizing it got. He just didn't get him. What in the world had possessed Potter to do _that?_ The Incident, Draco had taken to calling it in his mind. Not that Draco thought about it much, of course. Not at all.

So he may have contracted (like a disease, Draco thought) a bit of a Potter fixation. Nothing new, really – he had always been strangely fascinated by the boy. He was drawn to him, and drawn to putting him down, humiliating him publicly. It usually ended up going the other way, though, as Draco discovered.

But that didn't answer Draco's nagging question: _Why?_

God, he'd never felt so confused in his life.

* * *

"Wait. You _what?"_

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, Harry reflected, to tell Remus about his little tête-a-têtewith Malfoy.

"Harry, I think I must be hallucinating. Have you heard of those recently discovered bad effects of wolfsbane –"

Harry sighed. "You're not hallucinating, Rem."

"Well, then, I must be dreaming. You know, Harry, I've never had such a realistic dream, not since that one with – er," Remus paused, as Harry leaned over and pinched his arm. "It's dangerous to aggravate a dark creature, you realize."

Harry glared agitatedly at his mentor. "Remus, please. I'm about to have a nervous breakdown. You are not hallucinating, dreaming, nor high, nor any combination of those three."

"You mean to say –" Remus stopped speaking for a second, in order to process this grievous information, "-- To say that, I'm not dreaming about hallucinating that I'm high?"

"Yes. I do mean to say that."

"Then, Harry, you're quite fucked."

"No, I just kissed–"

"That _wasn't_ meant to be taken literally."

"Ah."

There was a lengthy pause.

"I think I just got another gray hair, Harry."

A snicker.

"My apologies."

* * *

Draco swallowed and tried to control his shaking. _Honestly, Draco, you're being ridiculous_, he told himself, his forehead feeling clammy yet hot. _You've met with Deatheaters, with Ministry people who, apparently, are on your tail, you've avoided Dementors for months at a time, you've been fucking imprisoned for two months – and the scariest thing of them all is Harry fucking Potter?_

_Apparently, _he sighed, and resigned himself to his sweaty palms.

Harry Potter, Draco had discovered, was one of the most unpredictable people Draco had ever had the misfortune to know. Draco usually prided himself upon his ability to pick up on people's motives and emotions, but really, Harry Potter was an unknown.

Potter hated him, Draco thought – no, he _knew_. The kiss, as shocking and bizarre it had been, was a bruising, aggressive attack, not a tender touch. He fingered his bottom lip thoughtfully. After the kiss, his lips had been inflamed, and the tissue around Harry's bite-marks (which Harry had so kindly inflicted upon Draco during his assault) had throbbed. Draco was sure the kiss was Harry's way of showing who was in control; the fact of the matter was, Harry did have the advantage, then. Draco felt like a pawn. He hated it.

_Get a grip_, he told himself harshly, and looked down at the small note he had found on the coffee table, along with a small key, after Harry had left.

_12 Grimmauld Place. Unplottable._

_Memorize it. Burn the note. Use the portkey if you so choose._

_-HJP_

The curt nature of the note seemed foreign. The Harry Potter that Draco remembered had been impassioned and brooding, but never curt. Draco was the one who never gave any more information than was necessary. Potter was a bumbling, idealistic fool.

_But not anymore,_ part of Draco's mind argued. This Harry was more cynical, even more so than the After-War Harry Draco had encountered at the graduation years ago. This Harry was also more experienced, more cautious, more clever and wise. He was the type to plot, to plan. Draco could easily imagine him slipping Veritaserum into someone's drink, or discreetly spying on the Ministry. Potter was... Slytherin-esque.

Draco snorted. Harry Potter, a Slytherin. What was the world coming to?

He dropped the piece of paper on the ground, aimed his wand at it, and muttered a spell. The paper immediately combusted and was consumed by small flames; within seconds, it was a small pile of ash on the street. Draco scuffed the ash with his shoe, dispersing it.

Taking off his leather gloves, he reached into his trouser pocket, and pulled out the key. Immediately he felt the tell-tale tug at his navel, and the ground fell from beneath him. When his feet were on solid ground again, he pulled his jacket down and brushed the wrinkles out (Draco's vanity hadn't faded at all through the years), then looked around.

It was a pleasant area. The air was clear and the sky was blue. Draco smirked. What a place to have the secret headquarters of the now-extinct Order of the Phoenix and the current – well, whatever it was. Draco wondered if Potter and the werewolf had even come up with a name for their little operation.

Closing his eyes, Draco visualized the words _12 Grimmauld Place _in his mind. As he opened his eyes, the house came into view. It was a cold, imposing place, and rather reminded him of a smaller, less elegant Malfoy Manor. As he walked up to the door, he noticed an orange-sized dent in the side of the house. _Tch. Werewolves._

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Draco knocked firmly on the door. It opened within seconds, revealing a careworn and gently smiling Remus Lupin.

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy," he said. "We've been expecting you."

Draco just raised an eyebrow. It seemed as if the werewolf was suppressing a toothy grin, the way his lips and cheeks were tight and his eyes, amused.

"I'm sure you have been. Where's Potter?"

Lupin pressed his lips together, and the wrinkles around his eyes deepened. Draco half-expected him to burst into giggles. _Just like a regular Dumbledore: mad._

"Harry's outside," he said, and he added as Draco lifted his brow again, "We've neglected the weeds lately."

"What, Potter too busy rallying up troops with his little schemes?"

Lupin choked. Draco had to refrain himself from rolling his eyes. Dear Lord, didn't Potter keep _anything_ private? "Er..." the werewolf trailed off. Draco now very pointedly rolled his eyes upward. Hastily, Lupin added: "I can assure you, Draco, that Harry doesn't usually... take the liberty... to – ah –"

"Practically blackmail his enlistees?"

"Now, Draco," Lupin leveled a warm and oh-so-condescending smile towards Draco, "It certainly wasn't blackmail."

"Then why the hell _did _he kiss me?" Draco demanded. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a mop of unruly black hair in the doorway. Immediately his turned towards Harry, who was entering the room; Lupin shut his mouth just as quickly.

Harry stopped short as he saw the two men looking expectantly at him. He gulped. "Um, hello." A pause. "Malfoy."

Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry, and Harry blinked and seemed to shrink away from the imposing blond. Remus silently chuckled: the scene resembled a cat cornering a very sheepish mouse. He folded his arms and waited, still smiling his oddly Dumbledore-esque smile.

"Hello, Potter." Draco was glaring quite comically at Harry. He looked positively petulant, like a wounded and indignant cat.

"Um. How are you?" Harry grinned nervously.

"Oh, you know, the usual. Get mauled by a former enemy, end up with a severely bruised ego, not to mention lips," Draco said casually.

Harry's eye twitched. "That's... nice."

"No, not really."

"Oh."

Lupin diplomatically stepped in before things got too humiliating for his godson. "So, Draco, why the sudden change in attitude?"

"Pardon me?" Although Draco's words were polite; the manner in which they were said was anything but.

Lupin didn't even seem to notice. "Why've you come here? Any particular reason, other than Harry's mesmerizing show?"

Draco colored elegantly. Even when he blushed, he had a sense of aristocracy and blind propriety about him. "Of course H – Potter's little demonstration had nothing to do with it," he snapped. "I just realized that I'm not being careful enough, considering certain details that have recently come to light."

"Such as you being pursued by the Ministry?"

Draco looked intently at Remus. "Such as that, yes."

"So," Harry broke in, "Does this mean you're on our side now?"

"I'm not on anyone's _side_, Potter. Not yet, at least," Draco added as an afterthought. Harry's interest was piqued, but he didn't let it show. "It's just survival."

"Yeah, right, survival," Harry muttered. Draco ignored him; and focused once again on Lupin. Or, in Draco's mind, _the werewolf_.

"I've come to propose a deal. Make arrangements."

"And?" Lupin prodded gently.

Draco shifted uneasily. The werewolf reminded him too much of Dumbledore, at times. Dumbledore had always made him uneasy. "And – I have certain, ah, connections. I can exchange information for information. Actually, it's more like information for protection." Draco tilted his head.

_That's kind of cu– never mind. _Harry shook his head. _Maybe Remus was right: maybe we're both going nuts._

Lupin smiled. "Done."

He and Draco shook hands.

"Just one more thing, Draco," Lupin said, as they sealed the deal. "We'll have to know where you are, at all times. Where you live, the works."

Draco sighed; he'd been expecting this. "Fine. Just don't get involved in my personal business." _I can work around you anyways. I'm the Slytherin King; sneaking around is my specialty._

Harry revealed a barely-hidden smirk. "What personal business is this, exactly?"

Draco shot him another glare. My, this was getting repetitive. "Potter, don't tell me you're interested in my love life. I think I may be ill."

"The restroom's to the right," Harry shot back, grinning.

Remus was openly chuckling now: _these two are priceless. Harry seems to be enjoying it, though. Hm._

Just as the harmless teasing was getting ready to escalate to a fight (judging by Draco's hostile expression, at least), there was a knock on the door, and it opened. The knock was rhetorical, it seemed; fitting of George Weasley, who had just walked into the living room. His deep baritone voice called out, "Hey, Harry? Remus? You there?"

"In here," Remus answered. Harry gulped, and prepared for an entirely amusing scene; Draco fittingly construed his face into a patronizingly superior expression.

"Hey, having fun, Har –" The red-haired man abruptly stopped, then blinked, then rubbed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Remus – did I accidentally bloody my head on your doorway? I think I'm hallucinating. Probably comatose, too."

Remus burst out laughing; Harry bit his cheek, looking at George with merriment. "No, George," Remus managed between very masculine giggles. "This is Draco Malfoy; I'm sure you remember him."

"Oh, perfectly," George said, frowning. "How's the little ferret doing?"

Draco noticed he and Harry exchanging intimately mirthful glances. Draco inwardly scowled. What was with this Weasley, anyways?

"I'm fine, thanks, and actually leaving," Draco said without emotion. "See you later, Lupin, Potter."

"Bye, Draco," the werewolf said, waving; Harry absentmindedly echoed the sentiment, then returned to quietly conversing with the red-head. Draco saw the Weasley nodding his head and sadly smiling; Harry rested his hand gently on the Weasel's shoulder and whispered something to him.

"Fickle bastard," Draco muttered, then apparrated outside, and then back to his Nice flat.

"What am I doing, getting mixed up with him – them," he asked himself rhetorically, flopping down on the couch, burying his aching head in his well-manicured hands. Then, bitterly: "I wasn't aware I was a fool of a Gryffindor," he smirked.

_No, you're a fool of a Slytherin,_ his mind added.

_Right. Even better..._

* * *

**Note: Please review; it inspires me so much! Constructive criticism is also appreciated! (Rip the chapter apart, for all I care.)**


	5. Freudian Philosophy

**Title**:Carte Blanche

**Author**: Ryyne

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter is the wonderful work of J.K. Rowling. Also, this was inspired by/ (quite) loosely based upon A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens. Any plot elements in common with that brilliant piece of work are, then, not mine.

**Warnings**: More Tortured!Characters. Author Sadism. ...Yeah...

**Feedback**: I adore all my reviewers! Thanks **so** much to everyone who left reviews, especially longer ones. You have my heart!

**Note**: This chapter is shorter/has less quality because I just had exams. However, now that school's over, expect more frequent updates (barring my time spent oversea)!

To **Jharrel Finkle: **Thanks so much for the offer (I'm extremely flattered!), but I already procured a beta for this particular story. Nevertheless, if you're still interested, my next HPDM fic (already in the works in my busy little mind) will likely need a pretty strict beta, or betas, so review/contact me if you'll be interested in that !

And a personal and totally frivolous note: Is anyone else _totally psyched_ for the movie adaptation of RENT? (Just watched trailer.)

**Carte Blanche**

Chapter Four: Freudian Philosophy

"So, how are things with you, George," Lupin asked in a fatherly tone while setting a pot of tea to boil. "Everything alright?"

George sighed, sitting down in the kitchen chair. "Relatively, yes. Subjectively – no, not really."

Harry frowned slightly, and leaned back in his chair. He was always at ease with George; ever since Fred tragically died, he and George had a common thread. They could talk – _really _talk. Not like Ron, or even Hermione – granted, they were his best friends regardless, but sometimes they just didn't _get_ Harry. George often did. George was an easygoing, relaxed person; extremely easy to get along with. Of course, Harry and George didn't often gossip and their respective personal lives, they just usually conducted therapeutic discussions.

Fred had died after the War was over: it was a shock to everyone when the news of his death came out. The cause was still unknown; all that was known was that he had been found, cursed dead, in a dark alleyway in Hogsmeade.

George had been ... devastated; although Harry wasn't certain that any word could express the magnitude of his trauma. Wizarding twins, Harry learned, were not as similar as one might think to their muggle counterparts: wizarding twins had a very potent and unique magical bond, somewhat akin to the typical soulmate bond (which is most pronounced between magical creatures such as veela and werewolves). The twins' magical signatures were identical, as with their genetic information. Many times their magic could intermingle and become mixed-up – spells could go haywire, particular curses could affect not only the one who was hexed, but also the other twin; things like that.

For all intents and purposes, then; George had lost half of himself in the death of Fred. He would never quite be the same again, Harry knew. It had taken him a while to regain his magical strength – for about two weeks immediately after the incident, George had essentially been a squib – but it would take him even longer to revert back to his typical lifestyle. The _before_ life.

Harry had many 'before' lives himself, he told George. The 'before Voldemort' life; even the 'before Magic' life. Before Hogwarts, before Cedric, before – before _Sirius. _And then the 'after' life. After Hogwarts, after Voldemort's defeat, after the War.

Somehow, in some distant, foreign part of Harry's mind, a small whisper of truth said: _After Draco._

Harry shook his head and shivered. "So – what – um, what changed?" He noticed George's look. "I mean, I thought you were doing relatively well, last time we got together."

George shrugged noncommittally. "Yeah, well... you know how it is."

Harry nodded. He did.

"So," Remus broke in, after a pregnant pause, "How's the new flat going along?" He stopped for a second. "Um. Landlord nice?"

"Yes, mostly; she's a muggle, though," Remus made a small 'oh,' "And, well ..."

"Mm," Harry agreed. "Nothing to talk about."

"Nothing of any consequence, at least." George smiled without humor. Smiling was always his defense mechanism.

Ever since the War ended, things had always been different. Such world events don't end with a complete conclusion, wrapped up with a relieved sigh and a few sad smiles. Harry had somehow expected, that once he killed Lord Voldemort, things would just melt away. Instead, the body count had actually increased for a few months, then slowly died away as the remaining Death Eaters were killed off. Then, Graduation. Then, some random attacks; just scares, people thought. However, soon enough, the "random attacks" were regularly making headlines in the _Prophet_, among other periodicals.

Then – then the Ministry, the rising Death Eater factions – then the societal and political overturn, a sort of a conceptual war (if such a thing existed). It was as if Voldemort was just the Bastille of the French Revolution, or the beheading of the King: a respected climax, but certainly not the end; not even close. At least with the Dark Lord, there had been decided sides. The Light, and the Dark – an easy enough decision, as they go. But now?

Harry sighed. There was a long pause, in which George rubbed his forehead, a cute frown pulling down the skin around his mouth.

"So," George said, after Remus hurried to pour the boiling tea from the screaming pot, "what exactly was Malfoy doing here?"

"Oh." Harry shrugged. "Not much, just being an arrogant little prick –"

Remus' teasing voice drifted over to them from the counter area. "How do you know he's little –?"

Harry colored immediately."Especially as I thought you just 'attacked' his mouth," Remus continued nonchalantly. "Earl Grey or English breakfast, you two?"

George raised a bright orange eyebrow and grinned.

"Okay," he said, in his original Weasley twin element, "You _definitely_ have to fill me in now."

Harry just groaned. _Things are just not going my way lately._

* * *

Draco pursed his lips together as he wandered throughout the Nice marketplace. It was a sunny, bright day; much the antithesis to Draco's current attitude. If you squinted enough, you could vaguely see the cartoonish cloud of gloom hovering over his perfectly groomed hair.

There were large groups of people, milling around; Draco could catch a few snippets of conversation (_"Combien por un melon?" "Savez-vous le français, autre que 'l'omelette de fromage' je veux dire?"_), but never heard or saw any wanderer that had a pronounced English accent. Sighing, he headed over to a fruit stand in the less crowded area of the market. He picked up an inordinately large orange, and glanced around. _Come on, c'mon ... stupid Gryffindors. I rather think I actually prefer Ravenclaws, now. God. 'Secret agent' my arse. What kind of person calls themselves some inane phrase taken from some god-awful muggle movie, anyways?_

"Oh!" A suspiciously un-French person cried as they appeared at Draco's side. Draco tilted his head down slightly and saw a slicked back mop of fine, mousy-brown hair.

"Took you long enough," Draco grimaced distastefully. "And take your voice down a notch, for Merlin's sake."

"Sorry," Neville Longbottom muttered. "But about a billion people are holding oranges or tangerines or whatever the hell they are at this market. Our signal needs some work."

Draco just shot him an impatient sneer. "Yeah, sure. What d'you have for me?"

Neville licked his lips nervously, glancing around. "How about first we," he motioned towards the perimeter of the street, not completing his sentence.

Draco nodded, and began walking out of the crowd; his informant followed, jogging a bit to keep up with the Malfoy heir's long, powerful strides. Once they were reasonably out of any person's hearing range, Neville began relating his information. Draco intently listened, silently cataloging even the most minute details in his mind.

After about fifteen minutes, they separated; Neville's hands empty as he had refused the gold coins Draco had offered him. "Business transaction," Draco had told him with a smirk. "And _you _get_ me_ fifty times the amount of gold I'm offering you now." Neville still refused. Draco shrugged, pocketed the money, and then apparated.

Neville looked morosely at the spot where Malfoy had just been. He sighed, and picked up the orange his companion had discarded. "Someday, Malfoy, you're gonna get yourself in trouble." He took from his pocket an article he had clipped from the _Prophet_, and regarded it as if it was an obituary. "You're gonna get yourself killed, for sure."

**BLACKWELL ASSURES MASS EXECUTIONS OF SUSPECTED DARK INFORMANTS IMMINENT.**

* * *

"Harry," said Remus, now rinsing the used teapot, "I'm curious. Why _did –_"

"I kiss Malfoy?" Harry finished. Remus nodded, half sheepish and half amused.

"I... I don't know," Harry admitted freely. He felt so calm and open around his former professor; Harry could often see why Sirius and his father had enjoyed the werewolf's company. A quiet, calm, diplomatic person; yet with an undeniable mischievous streak.

"I was so pissed, and we – he – I don't know. He was just _there_, and there was just this surge of –"

"Passion," Remus interrupted with a dry tone.

"Hatred," Harry corrected, rolling his eyes towards the older man.

Remus was silent; his emotions conflicting. "You know, Harry," he began slowly. "The 'flip-side of the coin' cliché often has actual merit..."

"Oh, please. I do not have a thing for Draco Malfoy."

"Well, sometimes stressful situations lead to things that wouldn't happen normally, I admit that. But, just because they wouldn't happen normally doesn't mean that there isn't any valid basis to them... trust me, I'd know..."

"You're sounding awfully Freudian or something, Rem. Next you're going to start analyzing my dreams and telling me I secretly want to make mad love to him," Harry told the other wryly.

"Well I'm not ruling it out as a possibility," Remus grinned, as Harry grimaced.

"Oh, Merlin. I think I need to vomit."

"Harry, don't be disgusting."

"Look who's talking!" Harry stuck out his tongue.

"_That's_ mature. I can't imagine what charming young Draco sees in you."

"..."

**_TBC..._**

_**Translations:**_

_Combien por un melon: How much for a melon?_

_Savez-vous le français, autre que 'l'omelette de fromage' je veux dire: Do you know any French, other than 'cheese omelette' I mean?_

Thanks to my beta Beth for the translations!

**Note: REVIEW! (Even though I personally think this chapter is rather boring. Oh, well, it has very needed information.) Also, to answer a reviewer's question, Hermione and Ron will be making an appearance soon :)**

**Next chapter: Remus and Harry talk some more; Remus reminisces; and some fun HD "drama"! And perhaps some more of "Businessman"!Draco.**


	6. Part One: Interruptions, Or Not

**Title**:Carte Blanche

**Author**: Ryyne

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter is the wonderful work of J.K. Rowling. Also, this was inspired by/ (quite) loosely based upon A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens. Any plot elements in common with that brilliant piece of work are, then, not mine.

**Warnings**: Definite slashiness.

**Note**: Another short one, since I'm off overseas. See you all in two weeks! I'll get the second half of the chapter out ASAP once I return.

**Carte Blanche**

Chapter Five: Part One – Interruptions, Or Not

Harry tossed and turned in the bed in his apartment. He had gone home around midnight, after having one too many martinis, and had literally fallen into bed. Sleep didn't come too quickly, though. He rolled over, folded the pillow over his head as if his neighbors were playing heinously loud music, kicked off the comforter, and repeated the cycle as needed.

Finally, he calmed, and a certain somnolence came over him. The last thing he remembered consciously seeing was the pale, full moon, heavily hanging in the night sky.

_Harry felt unnaturally drowsy. There was an undeniable pressure on his head, stifling rational thought; he felt, strangely enough, drugged. When he became more aware of his surroundings, he realized there wasn't just a pressure on his head – but all along the length of his body._

_Oh. Someone was lying on top of him._

_ He blinked, rather befuddled. It was dark, and he tried to squint and find out who – or what – was on him, but all he could see was a silhouette. Definitely a human figure, though, and possibly – female? The person was certainly slender enough, and not very bulky nor weighty._

_He raised his arms, and tentatively explored the body with his hands, running them down the sides. Well – there weren't many curves, no defined waist or hips – he experimentally slid his hand over the person's chest and arms. Flat and slightly muscular, respectively._

_Okay. Male, then. Slim, elegant, and perhaps very feminine male, but a male nonetheless._

_The man, previously lying limp, now began to acquire a sense of strength and action about him: his muscles tensed, legs moved to the sides, and he ran a hand slowly through his hair – his blond hair. The moonlight created a pale gleam on his crown._

_Harry's mouth suddenly felt dry and fuzzy._

_Accompanying all of this was a strong and sour sense of deja vu._

_Harry screwed his courage and ran calloused fingers gently down the side of the blond man's face. The man turned towards him, seemingly surprised, and brought his hand to rest on top of Harry's. His weight abruptly shifted and Harry felt oddly... excited._

_But before the blood could rush from Harry's head, the person began to writhe – not in a sexual way, but rather in pain. Gasping groans were slithering out of his mouth, and it was possibly the most nauseating thing Harry had ever seen. Harry didn't even know why, but this thoroughly disturbed him, and he pulled himself out from underneath the man._

_As Harry tried to comfort the stranger in pain, the world around him suddenly became more glaring, more clear. Not like daytime, but rather as if the dark shadows were lighting the room, somehow. Like that poem by that muggle author, John something, Harry thought. The room was its own Hell._

_And in this hellish bubble, Harry felt an inexplicable urge to touch the man's lips with his own. He was holding the man down by his arms, firmly, trying to stop the man's shaking; he now brought his head down closer to the stranger's._

_In one brief, illuminating moment, the dark light flickered across the blonde's face and his eyes flashed silver. Harry gasped in sudden recognition, but didn't have time before the man lifted his own lips to Harry's –_

Harry bolted upright, sweating furiously. For a moment, the world swirled around him, but slowly his eyes cleared and in a fit of consciousness he noticed someone was knocking loudly on the door. _Oh. Shit._ Harry felt himself blush.

Sighing, Harry threw off the minimal covers he had and padded sleepily over to the door. Without any regard for caution, he opened the door, quite ready to give the person on the other side a full-frontal glare of epic proportions. God, couldn't he even get a wet dream in peace?

However, when he swung open the door in sleepy irritation, the image that stood before him practically made Harry pass out in irony and shock.

A blonde, gray-eyed, slender man; scion of the Malfoy line; and spy extraordinaire. Draco Malfoy.

Harry gave an indistinct glare of epic proportions to the universe. Which, Harry was sure, hated him with a fiery and altogether unfair passion.

"May I come in?"

"Uh... Sure. Yeah. Come," Harry yawned. Draco raised an eyebrow, and Harry blushed again. "In. Come in."

"My apologies for waking you."

"Nah, it's fine. Not missing anything terribly important. Like sleep. I can do without sleep. I've done without it for a while and –"

"Potter?"

"Yes D – Malfoy?"

"You're babbling and surely delirious," Draco commented, as he followed the brunette into the living room. "Not to mention a little excited."

"Me? Excited?" Harry squeaked, and cursed himself as he cleared his throat. "No, I'm just half-asleep, and I tend to get rather crazy and uninte – unintelli –"

"Unintelligible?"

"That's it," Harry smiled weakly. He then sported a hundred and four degree fever as Draco pointedly looked at Harry, then downwards.

Harry groaned in total embarrassment, and put his face in his hands.

_I hate my life. I really, honestly do._

**Please Review (was the dream sequence decent?)! Even though it's quite short. However, in two weeks (after I return), I'll get the next one up ASAP!**


	7. Part Two: Sense and Sensibility

**Title**:Carte Blanche

**Author**: Ryyne

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter is the wonderful work of J.K. Rowling. Also, this was inspired by/ (quite) loosely based upon A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens. Any plot elements in common with that brilliant piece of work are, then, not mine.

**Warnings**: Slashiness, angst, etc. All that good stuff.

**Note**: I'm back! Sorry about the long wait. But here it is, and I'm glad everyone enjoyed the dream sequence ;) Expect the next one out in another two weeks, and then we'll hopefully be getting back on the original one-week schedule. And they'll be LONGER...bashes head against wall Work actually makes me have less free time than school does! (Plus spending weeks traveling.)

**Carte Blanche**

Chapter Five: Part Two: Sense and Sensibility

"You know," Draco commented as Harry uncomfortably prepared drinks for the both of them, "I never would have expected the great Harry Potter to be so sexually deprived."

Harry blanched. "Well, I never would have expected the proper elitist Draco Malfoy to be so utterly tactless."

"You learn a new thing everyday," Draco smiled sweetly. "Are those your own flannel pajamas? They're gorgeous."

"Oh don't patronize me," Harry snapped. "_You_ probably wear green velvet boxers, for all I know."

"You're quite the psychic. Ever had your inner eye checked out?"

Harry blinked, momentarily taken off-balance, then grimaced. "Green velvet boxers?"

Draco returned the look levelly. "Worn flannel pants?" Harry just glared, and Draco continued, unaffected: "No _wonder_ you're so deprived," he drawled.

"I'm not – _deprived –_"

"Oh, do grow up. I'm not the one going around kissing people for leverage," Draco said, unusually calm.

Harry's eyes grew wide and he started sputtering. "I do not – what – leverage? -- that wasn't for blackmail!" He blurted.

Harry barely noticed that his heart had begun to beat faster, perhaps even as quickly as Draco's cheeks had grown bright and beautifully pink. He felt as if he was standing on a bridge, on the edge of a dam, about to watch the damn break and water violently rush out of its confined space. Unfettered emotion running rampant.

It was the last thing he needed, this strange and inexplicable passion, this falsely incurred desire, and yet –

_"Well, sometimes stressful situations lead to things that wouldn't happen normally, I admit that. But, just because they wouldn't happen normally doesn't mean that there isn't any valid basis to them... trust me, I'd know..."_

Remus' benevolent and accepting face; his quiet, unassuming manner.

Harry suddenly felt guilty. He'd been ignoring Remus all this time, who'd been – and Harry felt he _should have known_ – right in his analysis of his and Draco's strange and dysfunctional 'relationship.'

He silently sighed. _Remus. And... Sirius. _Harry blinked back tears, scolding himself: _Don't be stupid, Harry. Don't be a fool. That's nothing like this – nothing._

Forcibly bringing himself back from his quiet musings, Harry noticed with surprise that Draco had turned away from him, and had poured himself a rather large shot of hard liquor. The staining blush had still not drained away from his normally pale cheeks.

Harry hadn't ever seen the Malfoy heir so strangely vulnerable, and... and _human. _He was entirely unprepared when the blond began to speak.

"What was it for, then?" Draco asked quietly, pure curiosity thickly permeating his tone.

"I don't _know_," Harry said honestly and in embarrassed but determined earnest. "Really – I don't."

The Slytherin raised a brow. "How can you not know?" He scoffed.

Harry didn't answer; he just shrugged. Somehow, this confrontation 'of sorts' was turning out to be less than horrific. In fact, it was as anticlimactic as he could ever possibly have imagined. The previous image of an emotional torrent had dispersed completely in his mind. Part of his mind wondered if he should just make biscuits and tea and have a nice little midnight teatime. A domestic, quaint sitdown. With, incidentally, Draco Malfoy.

Uh, huh. Harry could vividly imagine Draco in a preppy house-husband's outfit – complete with pink pinstriped apron – daintily serving tea on a silver platter.

Or someone's head. Either way.

"Well, Mr. Boy Wonder, if I were you –"

_If you were me, that'd be taking narcissism to a whole new level._

"-- I'd think about things before acting," Draco finished, a condescending and ever-so-slightly preachy look on his face.

"I thought I was a Gryffindor," Harry smiled lopsidedly.

The Slytherin shrugged. "A hundred galleons says that if you were sorted now you'd be plopped at the Slytherin table without so much as a blink."

"I'm flattered." Harry fanned himself in a flippant manner.

"See, you're becoming more like me everyday," Draco said triumphantly, a small smile threatening to upturn the corners of his mouth. Harry's eyes widened in pretend shock.

"Oh, say it isn't so!" He mockingly swooned, and – incidentally – fell, quite on center, into Draco's arms.

Draco's eyes widened in quite real shock. Any moisture in his throat immediately vaporized and the still-conscious part of his mind vaguely wondered whether he should be feeling disgust or happiness right now.

It settled on comatose, as Draco had completely frozen – that is, except for his hands, which were tightly gripping the thin fabric of Harry's shirt.

The brunette blinked once, twice, and then placed his hands lightly on Draco's shoulders in order to hoist himself up. However, upon doing so, Harry found his position worsened, his face being mere inches from that of the blond's. Harry noticed with acute detail the small twitch of Draco's aristocratic nose, the way his grey eyes narrowed in concentration, and his beautifully furrowed eyebrows.

Harry instantly felt like a specimen, like a magical creature under intense scrutiny. Like Draco was preforming some sort of scientific analysis on him, determining his – what? Worthiness?

Quickly, and with some anxiety, Harry removed his shuddering hands from the other man's shoulders, then turned towards a table chair, gripping it. He thoroughly ignored the wave of confusion and irritation that passed over Draco's countenance; instead, taking a deep breath, he said:

"Why don't I get dressed. We can take a walk and you can talk."

Draco shrugged his acquiescence, cheeks slightly flushed (though with anger or lingering excitement, Harry couldn't tell). "Good. I came here on business, after all. Not pleasure." His eyes narrowed. "Seems you tend to get the two confused, sometimes."

The words felt like a slap to Harry's cheek. Draco's eyes were cold, now, and Harry soon felt a similar numbness creep over his face, creating the acceptable expression of nonchalance and indifference. He quickly grabbed a large overcoat, and pulling it tightly around his t-shirt and sweatpants, he and Draco walked out of his apartment, down several flights of stairs, and into the dark street, their respective prides and right minds regained.

Sensibility could be a bitch.

* * *

**Please review! I promise a longer one next time. And with more plot, obviously. --;; Somehow I feel as if the characters are OOC here. Hm.**


	8. Games of the Oral Variety

**Title**:Carte Blanche

**Author**: Ryyne

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter is the wonderful work of J.K. Rowling. Also, this was inspired by/ (quite) loosely based upon A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens. Any plot elements in common with that brilliant piece of work are, then, not mine.

**Warnings**: Slashiness. Lots of it. Yay! (Also a lot of cursing, at one point.)

**Note**: Thanks to Beth for her beta-ing! All you readers should be grateful that she reminds me I shouldn't torture Harry _too_ much. Aw... but he's so fun!

Second Note: This fanfiction is obviously AU as of HBP. Although I have so many plot bunnies because of HBP it's ridiculous. So much to write and so little time... why do I work in the summer? Why! (To make money, that's why. Stupid me!) But as an aside, since Canon!Draco Malfoy actually _cried ... _well, this gives me a lot more license to make him a bit more of a softy without being completely OOC, no? happiness

So... Here you go, everyone! Action that's NOT part of a dream! (I swear my beta was about to maim me... g).

**Carte Blanche**

Chapter Six: Games of the Oral Variety

A hot and calloused hand rose to caress Draco's pale cheeks. Grey eyes widened and the Malfoy heir moved to take another step away, but a second strong hand shot out to hold his wrist; not too tightly, but firmly enough to stop Draco in his reluctant tracks.

"What are you doing," Draco half-hissed, although the domineering brunette knew him well enough to realize that Draco wasn't angry, just confused.

Harry smiled benevolently, not gracing the blond with an answer to the rhetorical question. The usually narrowed eyes of the Malfoy were widened to the size of expensive silver dinner plates.

"Hey, you did it to me," Harry murmured, his hand snaking from Draco's cheek to the back of his neck. He felt supple muscles tighten stressfully underneath fingers. "Relax," Harry told him.

Draco would have raised an eyebrow, if he wasn't about to: a) sprint away, b) wake up, or c) collapse because of his exponentially weakening knees. Draco wasn't entirely sure which would happen, but somehow he was betting on number three.

Draco looked upwards through his white eyelashes, and saw Harry's face towering above him – which didn't make much sense, seeing as Draco couldn't be an inch shorter than Harry – but then he felt a cold wall against his back. With a jolt, Draco realized _he_ was now trapped, albeit gently, against the wall, his knees sinking to the ground. Harry's other hand had moved from his wrist to right next to his head. There was a strange look on his face, and if it wasn't _Harry_, terribly Gryffindorish _Harry_, Draco might have been nervous. The look was possessive yet un-threatening, confident yet gentle. It was a look he had seen on his own features before, standing in front of a costly baroque mirror, surrounded by the riches of the Malfoy manor.

But Harry was standing in a dark alley in the middle of Nice, a few Muggle gas lamps making his face glow ever-so-slightly.

Draco's face tilted minutely upwards, although whether it was by Harry's gentle prod or of his own volition, he wasn't sure. Staring blankly into the brunette's dark green eyes – they looked nearly black now – he momentarily wondered how he had gotten himself into this particular position.

Oh, yes...

* * *

_Earlier that night..._

"Wait," said Draco, stopping abruptly as the pair turned a corner, and were temporarily obscured by trees planted by the side of the sidewalk. Harry stopped mid-step, surprised at Draco's blurt. They'd been silent until now; Harry waiting for Draco to initiate the "business conversation," and Draco stubbornly remaining quiet.

"What?"

Draco's eyes darted to the right, then left, causing them to glint in the moonlight. "Here," he hissed, and grabbed Harry's hand, moving into the shadow of a building. Harry jumped as if touching a hot iron rod, prompting Draco to glare at him. "Stop fidgeting. Be quiet," He ordered curtly.

"What are we doing?" Harry whispered back, now used to Draco's odd mannerisms and unexpected actions.

"Apparating."

"Where?"

"Nice. France."

"Er... Why?" Harry cringed as Draco leveled a look of pure irritation at him.

"Because that's where I'm living... at the moment."

"Oh," Harry said, still in a whisper.

Draco's hold on Harry's hand tightened, and Harry momentarily felt a flash of heat go across his face. The next moment, however, he was standing on a different street, surrounded by quaint shops, the area lit by classical lanterns. Oh. They had just apparated. Which would explain the hand-holding. _Oh_.

Harry couldn't help but notice that Draco was still gripping his hand, although much more loosely, and the Slytherin's fingers were now gently entangled in Harry's. The next second, however, the warm hand was gone. A feeling of disappointment gathered like a group of clouds in Harry's mind, but Harry quickly squashed it.

Immediately the two were walking again, although more slowly. Just meandering, really, and only now did Draco begin to speak.

He quickly outlined his situation: told Harry about Neville, his informant from the Ministry, told Harry about the Death Eaters in the nightclub in Spain. Hinted at his own fears of being captured by Blackwell, although he quickly added that Blackwell didn't dare do anything yet, as other high-ups in the Ministry still valued Draco for his information. Little did they know, of course, that Draco worked both ways: the information he managed to slide out of the Ministry he, in turn, handed to the Death Eaters.

Harry stared at Draco after the blond finished his long and, towards the end, agitated narrative. He knew Remus trusted the Malfoy, but... well, Malfoys are Malfoys, aren't they?

"So..." Harry began, and looked down at the cobblestone street, "Um... if you don't mind me asking... which side are you _really_ for?"

"Neither, Potter, I thought that was obvious," Draco sneered. Harry appeared a bit taken aback.

"Well I know you've said that before but – just making sure – so then," he paused, "You're on our side? For neither the Ministry nor the Death Eaters?"

"Who's 'us'?"

"Me and Remus."

"No."

Harry, again, was taken aback at how little hesitation Draco had in answering. "So –"

Draco smirked. "You just don't get it, do you, Potter?"

"No, frankly I don't," Harry retorted in annoyance. God, Malfoy was an arse of the first degree, wasn't he? "You risk your life without any motivation? Any _purpose_? You have a death wish, Malfoy?"

"Oh, there's a purpose, all right," Draco returned loftily. "Just not your Gryffindor-brand noble one."

"What is it, then?"

Draco took a moment to examine his fingernails. After completing the inspection, he said without emotion: "Money."

"_Money?_ I thought you were loaded!"

"Yes, well, having your family's assets confiscated by the Ministry tends to make a dent in your fortune," Draco sneered at Harry disdainfully.

Harry was quiet for a moment. Then, "I'm sorry. I for –"He was interrupted roughly by a hand clamping down on his mouth. "Mmmpphhhh!"

"Shut up!"

"Whmph?"

Draco's fingers were digging into Harry's cheek and, Harry noticed, his knuckles were pure white. "I heard something," he told Harry quietly, and much too calmly for Harry's liking. Then, as if a lightbulb had suddenly turned on in Harry's head, he heard the voices as well.

They were coming closer, and getting louder. The pair managed to catch a few snippets of their low conversation.

"I tell you, Blackwell's getting mighty mad –"

"Against Ministry rules –"

"Shut up, you two, we're supposed to be looking for the Malfoy bastard – He's supposed to live here now, according to our information –"

Harry felt the blood drain from his face, and looking at his companion, didn't feel so alone in his total and utter panic. The voices were clearly getting extremely close – coming towards them, in fact.

"Fuck," Draco whispered, skin completely white, even down to his fingertips.

"What should we do," Harry whispered, almost rhetorically – it seemed a helpless situation; there was nowhere to hide. Absolutely nowhere; all the shops were closed, and breaking into one would just cause even more attention. The street was wide and plain.

Draco slowly turned his head towards Harry's, meeting his eyes in a frank gaze. Harry could practically hear the gears turning in his head, and something told him he should be a bit worried about how Draco was staring at him.

Pursing his lips, Draco was barely able to say, "Just don't get any ideas, okay?", before he grabbed Harry and forcefully pushed him against a wall of a shop; pressing his own body against Harry's as much as he could. Harry barely had the breath or thought to gasp, but he did – and was soon silenced by a rough mouth against his.

"Grrrphhmm!" Harry's mouth was tight and firm, mainly because of his attempts to push Draco off him.

As he was actually making progress in these attempts, Draco abruptly stopped the harsh kiss and moved his face just a millimeter away from Harry's, enough to hiss: "Just go along with it, Potter, and we might get out of this mess alive."

Realization quickly dawned on Harry and he scowled at Draco, giving him a 'you-are-so-going-to-pay' look. Then, with a sigh of resignation – and a gulp of anticipation, although he attempted to hide it – Harry allowed Draco to descend upon him again, just as the three Ministry figures came into clear sight.

_Oh, God. Oh, God, this cannot be happening, _Harry managed to coherently think, as he (in a moment of temporary insanity, Harry assured himself) grabbed Draco's arse and pulled him even closer.

Now their faces, and even entire fronts, were obscured from view, as the three men walked towards them: however, they weren't exactly being _silent_...

As the kiss progressed, the rough, panicking pressure of Draco's mouth against Harry's slowly lessened, and their lips began to move in more gentle synchronization. Part of Harry's mind was yelling, _Are you crazy? This is absurd!... No – Fuck! No! Stop it right now, Harry! Not the teeth! And GOD DAMN IT, keep your tongue to yourself!_, while another part was doing a strange and disturbing imitation of Homer Simpson, with matching intelligence and ability to articulate: _Mmmm... Draco-lips. Mmmm... Draco-tongue. Mmmm... Draco –_

_Fuck!_

Harry's eyes opened in shock. _What the fuck was ... oh, shit. Oh, shit shit shit._

He was definitely feeling something other than Draco-lips and Draco-tongue, now, and he wasn't feeling it by mouth, either.

And ... Draco wasn't the only one with the problem.

_Damn damn damn, shit shit, fuck, _Harry sang in his mind, hardly lucid.

Of course, there was the intended upside to this situation: No way were those three Ministry guys, who had incidentally just passed by, going to recognize the two passionate, grinding away gay men as Draco Malfoy and co.

_Hmmm. I should keep this in mind for next time,_ Harry thought involuntarily.

Then: _Shit. I mean, no I shouldn't, I mean... oh hell,_ he finished, now intent on simply the gorgeous blond against him.

However, as soon as Harry lost himself again in pure essence of Draco, the Malfoy pulled away from him just as suddenly as he had 'attacked.'

Face flushed, lips swollen, hair mussed. _Beautiful_, Harry thought, now much too drunk off Draco to punish himself for his unbidden thoughts.

"So – " Draco cleared his throat, voice low and husky. "Sorry about that." He made no move, however, to move away.

Harry remained strangely silent, and this made Draco even more nervous. "Um – right then," he finished lamely, and made a move to step away.

That was when he felt a brush against his cheek, and his eyes widened in shock as Harry's hand caressed his cheek. Before he could move away more, the second hand gripped his wrist, and he was now staring into the two passionate dark eyes of one Harry James Potter.

* * *

_Present time..._

And, well, long story short: _he_ was now the one pressed against the wall, Harry about to kiss him – _voluntarily._ Draco shivered as lips covered his own; however, there were not rough nor fake, but rather... gentle. _Loving_, even.

_Okay. Time to pass out_, Draco thought as his knees finally buckled, but he was 'caught' by Harry's body, once again tight against his. Harry's lips were still moving against his own, and Draco now felt himself begin to respond in the same sensual manner. Allowing himself to close his eyes, be breathed a sigh into Harry's mouth, which conveniently let Harry slip his tongue past Draco's lips.

_...Shock._ Now Draco's mind returned to him in partial function: _Tongue in mouth. Harry's._ His mind figured that this roughly equaled _Bad, _... or at least, it _should_... But...

Harry groaned in protest as Draco turned his head away from Harry's prying mouth.

"P... Potter..." Draco breathed, looking at the ground, "I think –"

Harry interrupted. "Harry."

Draco turned his head again to look into Harry's scarily frank eyes. "What?"

"Harry. Call me Harry." The serpentine gems of eyes bored into Draco's. Draco let out a long, shaky breath. The intense green gaze was much too penetrating.

"You said – remember?" Harry continued. "At graduation. About names. Their power..." Harry trailed off, looking expectantly at Draco.

The blond licked his lips in anxiety, and was secretly delighted when Harry's gaze was attracted towards the motion. "I – I..." Draco cursed himself for stuttering. "I... will call you Harry, if you call me by my first name."

"What? S.O.B.?" Harry joked.

Draco's eyes narrowed instantly. God, Potter was a bastard. Maybe he should rethink this...

Harry smiled at Draco's irritation, and gently explained in an odd tone of affection, "Seriously Orally-talented Beauty."

Draco couldn't prevent a grin. By Merlin, he was acting completely un-Malfoy-like... and was enjoying it. "Wouldn't that be S.O.T.B, Harry?"

"You tell me, Draco," Harry returned teasingly, and then tilted his head in mock consideration. "Actually, never mind. Don't say anything," and he once again descended upon the silver-eyed S.O.T.B.

**TBC...**

* * *

Hehehe. I had way too much fun with this chapter. Remember to REVIEW! Extra points if someone can spot from where I got the inspiration for the "diversion tactic"! 


	9. Subtle Foreshadow

**Title**:Carte Blanche

**Author**: Ryyne

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter is the wonderful work of J.K. Rowling. Also, this was inspired by/ (quite) loosely based upon A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens. Any plot elements in common with that brilliant piece of work are, then, not mine.

**Warnings**: Um... nothing, really. A few curses here and there.

**Note**: Ding ding ding! **NotTheHBP **got it right! The diversion tactic is taken from/inspired by FAKE. Very cute scene, and is totally owned by Matoh Sanami (the author of the series). Please don't sue! ;; I bow before her genius!

And on a totally unrelated note... Obviously the title doesn't bode well, and if you're paying attention you might be able to guess what will be eventually coming up. Needless to say, there's only about one or two more chapters before the plot really gets into gear. And don't worry, I won't leave the romance dangling behind!

Thanks to beta **Beth** as usual! (And just so the readers know, she's wanting a make-out scene ASAP and how can I say no to that?)

**Carte Blanche**

Chapter Seven: Subtle Foreshadow

Draco grabbed a short white towel off the rack, swiping it across the foggy mirror before wrapping it loosely around his slim hips. Taking a moment to inspect himself in the small rectangular mirror hanging over the sink of Harry's bathroom, he noticed precarious dark circles under his gray eyes beginning to form. There was also a slight glow around his upper lip – thin and barely visible white-blond hairs that Draco hadn't had the chance to shave. Cursing the events that brought him to this point (and, although he would never admit it, silently thanking them as well), the Malfoy stepped out of the bathroom and into Harry's sparse but comfortable bedroom.

Swathed in earthy tones and neutrals, it was the bedroom of someone with verifiable money but a lack of time. Rich materials covered the large bed, and the two wooden nightstands beside the bed looked very skilfully handcrafted. Draco was sure that the delicate glass vase perched solidly on top of one of the wood treasures was the result of Harry's many travels abroad, as well were several other curios scattered around the room like raindrops in a sparse shower.

It felt strange to be standing in the middle of Harry Potter's bedroom covered with only a towel, that was for sure. But it wasn't is if they had _done_ anything, Draco reasoned with himself. Harry had merely offered his apartment as a place for his blond friend to crash for a while, since it seemed that his place in Nice wasn't exactly an ideal living arrangement for the 'spy,' now that Blackwell's cronies knew about it. And, more importantly, now that Blackwell was pissed enough (or worried enough, or confident enough) to bring her search for the Malfoy heir to persons other than herself.

This was bad. Very, very bad. Well, it wasn't as if Draco hadn't been expecting it – just not so god damned _soon_. Now that Blackwell felt secure enough to bring her want for Draco out into the relative open, it would be no time until every single Auror in the country was camped out at every single place Draco had been to in the past year.

So now what was he going to do? Hide? Like a prisoner?

"Be damned if that's gonna happen," Draco muttered to himself.

Giving the master bedroom one more look-over, Draco padded quietly out the door and towards the kitchen, pointedly scowling over his unfortunate circumstances (like a good Malfoy should!). As he neared the door at the very end of the hall, subdued voices reached his ears – _Harry and Lupin, _he decided after a quick moment.

He pursed his lips. Surely it would be inexcusably bad form if, as the renowned (fine, _notorious_) Malfoy heir, he did _not _eavesdrop. Really, was he a Slytherin, or a Hufflepuff?

_Pah. Don't ask stupid questions,_ Draco reminded himself.

So he brought his ear close to the door and listened. Lupin and Harry weren't overly quiet, so it wasn't difficult to hear what they were saying.

"Harry," Draco heard Lupin's softspoken voice. He sounded... so kind. Fatherly, even.

The blond shook his head violently. Not a time to be going back down _this_ road, he told himself. Still – somehow – his mind could never quite leave the topic go – Father...

"Yes?" Harry's strained voice broke Draco's reverie.

There was a pause. Then a deep sigh, and Draco was just able to hear a chair scooting across the floor. Lupin's next words sounded a bit louder; he must've moved closer to Harry and the door. "Harry, I'm happy for you. Really, I am. Draco Malfoy – well – he had certainly changed, and although he will always be a Malfoy," Draco heard a chuckle here, "He has a, er, a relatively good heart. He just doesn't like to show it, I know."

There was a murmer of amused agreement from Harry.

Then a tense pause.

"Harry –"

"Sirius," Harry murmured.

"I – Sorry?" Draco heard a crack in Lupin's voice. Sirius? Wasn't that Potter's godfather? Thought he died, Draco mused.

"He sort of – well – his situation. Draco might as well be an escaped convict now, as well."

"Well, yes, Harry, but it could be worse," Remus noted wisely.

"How could it!" Harry was about to go into hysterics; Draco could tell. There was a definite panic in his voice. "This is what got Sirius killed! You know that! And – Draco – he doesn't – he wouldn't like feeling helpless and trapped inside a house either!"

"Yes, but Draco isn't nearly as reckless as Padfoot was," Remus said. "There's a certain advantage that Draco's in Slytherin. He's very clever, not to mention careful."

"And _Sirius wasn't?_"

"Sirius was a noble Gryffindor who listened to his heart... He wasn't what one would call a thinker. Draco on the other hand –"

"_How can you say that?_" Harry cried. "You were his _lover!"_

Draco's eyes widened. 'The plot thickens...'

"And it's precisely because I am his lover that I say that," Remus replied calmly. What Draco couldn't see was the sudden gold tint his eyes took on. "At any rate, Harry, don't worry yourself over it, kiddo... focus on happier things, shall we?" Diversion tactic. Draco smiled to himself.

A muttered, "Yes."

"Shall I prepare tea?"

"Sure," Harry sighed. He sounded a bit more relaxed, Draco noted.

"What would you like?"

"Draco prefers herbal," Harry said. The aforementioned could practically hear the raised eyebrow on Remus' face. "Er... I mean... peppermint's fine?"

The Malfoy decided that now would be an appropriate time to finally enter the room. As he stepped into the kitchen, he immediately noticed the surprised, and then amused, expression on Lupin's face, and the cherry that was Harry Potter's head. _Oh. Suppose Harry didn't tell Remus that he had spent the night (although it was entirely innocent)?_ He momentarily crinkled his brow in thought, and was about to smirk and make a smart-ass comment when Harry's wide eyes, fastened upon Draco, began to travel downwards in their gaze.

"Wh..." Draco trailed off, and looked down.

Towel. Shit.

He didn't even have time to explain himself before Lupin burst into soft laughter, clutching the kitchen counter. "You...Hahaha...Harry...Harry!" He cried in between what could be called _giggles_. "You _didn't!"_

_"_No!" Harry protested. "He just... slept over! Honest! Nothing happened," He finished, looking desperately over to Draco for confirmation.

Well, Draco reasoned, he could only tell the truth. It was the right thing to do, no? He choked down a grin, and opened his mouth to speak.

"...I wouldn't exactly say that," the Malfoy drawled. Harry's explosive green eyes narrowed, and Draco couldn't resist a self-satisfied leer. "There _was_ quite a bit of snogging involved." He moved casually to a cupboard several feet away, and opened it with a definite wiggle of the towel-clad butt. "Peppermint, did you say?"

Harry's blushing curses were easily drowned out by Remus' uncharacteristically loud, barking laughter.

* * *

After bidding the thoroughly amused werewolf good bye, Harry and Draco both collapsed into plush living room chairs with a sigh. Remus had been quite bemused by the entire situation – disregarding the conversation Draco had overheard earlier – and both he and the blond spent the majority of Remus' visit having fun at Harry's expense.

_Ah, the good ol' times_, Draco thought with a smirk. Teasing Harry Potter would never cease to be one of his more enjoyable pastimes.

It was now about eight o'clock in the evening, and the two had benevolently settled in front of the lit fireplace. It was very calming watching the flames flicker... every once and a while the fire would seem almost dead, reduced to embers, but would then suddenly burst into hot life again. Draco sat there, a newspaper over his lap, not reading but watching the fire absentmindedly.

It was rather unlike the Slytherin to be so daydreamy, Harry knew. The brunette bit his lip. Just an hour ago Draco had been smirking and sneering and – god forbid! -- smiling over jokes, and now the Malfoy was, well, _moody_. Temperamental.

Harry never knew Draco could be PMS-y, but he figured that it only fit the profile of a self-centered, spoiled, formerly rich brat.

_Great_, he though with a roll of his eyes, _now I have to live with two people who have "time of the months"?_

_Live with_... Harry froze. Was he really going to let Draco live with him until this all died down? That could take months, years... would he even be able to stand it? There was now an undeniable sexual tension between the two; they had not really spoken about... last night. And yet –

_Knock!_

Harry blinked, brought of of his musings by the unexpected noise breaking the comfortable silence.

_Knock! Knock!_

By know Draco was up out of his seat, looking towards the door with a wary expression. "You'd better get that," he said, at the same time retrieving his wand from the coffee table. Harry nodded grimly, reaching under one of the chairs and tossing a silvery material towards Draco.

"Put that on." Draco didn't need to be told twice, and suddenly he was gone. Or rather, invisible.

Harry walked quietly over to the door, clutching his wand, and opened the door slowly, peering through the crack. Suddenly it was flung open, causing Harry to leap back and take a defensive position.

"HARRY!" A blur of red yelled before Harry nearly collapsed under the weight of a hand slapping him on his back. "How are you, mate? Doing well? Got a girl – er, sorry, or a guy – yet?"

"Stop interrogating him, dear," a curly-haired young woman said with a wide, happy smile. She took Harry into a warm hug, which Harry, just getting over his shock, returned. "But really, how _are_ you, Harry?"

"I – I'm fine, 'Mione," the green-eyed man smiled. "Surprised you're here, though. I thought you were up north?"

"Yes, but we decided to take a quick trip back to visit," the young woman replied warmly.

"What she means is, she wanted to give you the news personally," Ron added with a wink, ignoring the stern look his young wife sent his way.

Harry blinked. "Er... what news?" At Harry's confusion, Hermione blushed, which just increased his puzzlement. Harry also could have sworn he heard a snicker a couple feet away from him. His brows furrowed. _I swear, Draco, if you do _anything...

"Hermione is –"

"I'm pregnant," the woman softly finished (or rather, interrupted).

Harry stared.

"You?"

"Yes, me," Hermione replied fussily, not bothering to hide a glowing beam. "I don't believe Ron is." She laughed. Harry did as well, feeling infinitely more relaxed already – until a dry voice behind him unveiled itself.

"Congratulations."

Harry spun around. _Shit._ Draco had taken the cloak off, and was now standing in the center of the living room. Not subtle by _any_ means.

"Er –" Harry began. However, he didn't get very far.

"What is _he_ doing here?" Ron said, eyes wide, mouth open. He didn't sound angry, exactly, more disbelieving. Hermione was quiet, observing the situation through wise eyes.

"Um..."

"Living here, actually," Draco responded, almost civilly. He threw the cloak onto the sofa, just before Ron collapsed heavily on it.

"Living... here?" The redhead croaked. He looked dangerously pale, and didn't even look at Harry when he spoke to him. "Hey, mate, when I told you to get a hold of your love life –"

"It's not like that!" Harry cried frustratedly. "Draco, shut the hell up!"

"_Draco?"_

Harry sat back down on his chair and moaned. _This could have gone better._

_And it could have been worse,_ another part of his mind reminded him.

_At least no one's dead. Yet._

**TBC...**

* * *

**After-chapter note: Okay, originally this chapter was going to have a lot of stuff crammed into it, but I realized at the second scene that things were getting drawn out, so in order to avoid having too long a (relative) hiatus on updates, I decided to cut it off there.**

**Thus... next chapter: Continuation of the 'Ron and Hermione' scene (yes, I know I'm submitting to a cliché, but I can't ignore the inevitable), some HD fluffiness, then some HD tension, and a rather large "&!" moment at the end.**

**REVIEW! Makes me write faster and boosts my self-confidence (which I have to admit is rather lacking as an effect of writing that scene with Ron and Hermione in it... Ack... cliché-ville... May the fanfiction spirits-- and readers --have mercy on me!).**


	10. Of Things to Come

**Title**:Carte Blanche

**Author**: Ryyne

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter is the wonderful work of J.K. Rowling. Also, this was inspired by/ (quite) loosely based upon A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens. Any plot elements in common with that brilliant piece of work are, then, not mine.

**Warnings**: The story begins to get _much_ darker and more serious this chapter. And, of course, there's also slashiness :)

As usual, much thanks to beta Beth! (I know I sound repetitive when I say this, but you readers are so lucky I have her! promises to work harder on her Persistent Harry-Sadism Condition)

**_Carte Blanche_**

**Chapter Eight: Of Things to Come**

It was a while before Ron had regained normal mental function, and Hermione wasn't exactly unsurprised, either, but it was all in all a mild affair.

Too much had happened since that fateful graduation years ago, and the young adults had grown much too fast. Somehow school rivalries and trivial quibbles didn't matter anymore; and, well, if Harry – and more importantly, Professor Lupin – trusted Draco, who were they to argue? (It was also rather helpful that Harry 'forgot' to mention his and Draco's budding relationship. So to speak.)

There were just a couple things that Harry needed to forcefully pound into his friend's thick skull.

"So, wait a second," Ron said, massaging his temple with his forefingers, a trait he had picked up from his wife, "Malfoy's _helping_ you guys? _Why_?"

Draco beat Harry to the punch. "_Because_," the blond drawled, "The oh-so-friendly geniuses at the Ministry took away all my money, and – excuse my crudeness – I'm probably about as poor as you are, Weasley. Which is quite, ah, _sobering_. Although at least _I_ still have class," Draco added with a cryptic smile that baffled Ron and Hermione. It wasn't easy to tell if Draco was being arrogant or just plain mean.

Harry stepped in, sending a quick glare Draco's way. "What he means is he's playing both sides for money. Quite the little whore, really." Harry smirked.

Draco's eye twitched noticeably. "Doesn't it take one to know one?"

Harry stared at him for a moment. "I thought you'd gotten over that! God, obsessed enough!"

"Er..." Ron's meek mumblings were lost in the brewing tension between the two wizards who were now standing and facing one another.

"Well, _you_ see how easily an incident as scarring as that one leaves your mind! Have _you_ ever been mauled!"

"What? Harry mauled Malfoy? Way to go!"

"Um, _yes, _Draco, unless you've forgotten already," Harry shot back, referring to the previous night, "and _no_, Ron, I didn't!"

By now Ron was beyond lost. Hermione, however, was getting a smile on her face that was just as mysterious as Draco's earlier one. She coughed conspicuously, getting everyone's attention. "As intriguing as this all is, I'd still like some elaboration on exactly what you two are up to. How is Draco" (Her husband's eyes bulged, and he mouthed '_Draco?'_) "achieving this scheme of his? How's he helping you and Remus, Harry?"

"I'm not," Draco replied in an unusually civil tone, flopping back down on the armchair, thoroughly ignoring Harry.

"Sorry?"

"I'm not really achieving anything... well, anymore," Draco added as an afterthought. At Hermione's inquiring look, he explained. "Earlier today... or I suppose, late last night... Harry and I discovered that Blackwell now knows where I live. Needless to say, I'm indisposed at the moment. Which brings us back to why I'll be living with, er, _at_ Harry's for a while."

Hermione's brows creased. "How did you discover this? Do they know you know? You should be more careful!" The last part was spoken in a disgustingly motherly tone. Harry smiled inwardly. _She'll be a great mom. If she doesn't drive her kids insane first._

Then Harry realized precisely what road they were going down, and blushed. He reassured his friend hastily. "Don't worry, 'Mione. They don't know. We... stumbled upon them in a discussion about Draco."

Draco snorted, earning Ron and Hermione's attention. "Yeah, they don't know. We, ah, dodged them, and I must say, it was a rather ingenious means."

Harry was sure this was some sort of karmic payback for something he had done once upon a time. Either that, or Draco was just enjoying spiting Harry as much as he could. _Well, that's him on the very uncomfortable couch for the remainder of his stay._

Harry immediately blushed again at where his thoughts were taking him. He silently cursed his wayward brain. It tortured him just as much as the addictive blond did.

" 'Ingenious means'?" Hermione inquired, fighting back a knowing smile.

Draco pressed his lips together, as if trying to fight back memories of the searing kisses. He was fully and painfully aware of the intense glares Harry was sending his way.

Sighing, Draco shrugged. _You owe me one, Potter. _"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to divulge any more information." His clear silvery eyes glanced towards the brunette, who was now staring at him, mouth slack but eyes filled with obvious relief. _What are you so scared of, Harry?_

"Oh, I get it," Hermione teased.

"You do?" Ron's voiced incredulously.

And, just to heighten Harry's belief in the universe's complete animosity towards him, Remus' eternally mild voice rang out. "Harry! Draco! I'm home... Oh, hello, Hermione, Ron. How do you do?" He set down groceries on the counter bordering the kitchen.

"We're very well, Professor, thank you," replied Hermione politely. "How are you?" Ron echoed her words.

"Oh, my dear, call me Remus," the werewolf responded warmly. "And I'm very well, thank you, despite all this nasty business that's been going on lately." Hermione murmured her agreeing sentiments as Remus discreetly laid a newspaper on a chair, out of Harry and Draco's sight. He then reached into the paper grocery bag and tossed a small box into Harry's lap. "There you go, Harry. Thought you'd be needing that," Remus said with a casual wink.

Draco leaned over inquisitively as Harry looked down at the package. Harry flushed deeply as Draco burst into raucous laughter.

"What is it?" asked Ron, leaning forward to read the writing on the item.

"Er, nothing," Harry choked, and stuffed the box under the armchair's cushion, avoiding Remus' wide and innocent smile like the plague. Draco smirked at Ron's bewildered expression and made a rather racy gesture that involved his thumb, mouth, and a popping sound. At least Hermione understood; she blushed delicately but still snickered.

The red-head blinked, eyes moving from Harry, to Draco, to his wife, and finally to Remus. "Am I missing something?"

"No, of course not, dear," Hermione replied cheerfully, cheeks still brushed with pink. "Shall we go?" She stood up.

"What? We're going? Now? Why?"

"Later, Ronald." She winked surreptitiously at Draco while grabbing her husband's arm. "Congratulations, Harry!" Were her last words before the two disappeared.

The former Gryffindor blankly stared at the spot his two friend's had just inhabited.

"Well, that was surprisingly pleasant, wasn't it?" Draco smiled.

* * *

As soon as Remus finished the domestic task of putting his purchases away, he withdrew the newspaper that he'd hidden earlier, and threw it down – rather forcefully, for the usually calm werewolf – on the living room coffee table, startling the other two men. "Take a look at that," he almost spat. His younger companions looked at him with raised eyebrows; the former Professor was rarely angry, and even more rarely physical about his anger. 

Harry picked up the paper as Draco watched warily. Harry's chest pounded with nervous anxiety as he read the headlines on the front page.

**BLACKWELL IMPLEMENTS NEW LAW**

Underneath was a moving black-and-white image of rows of people, organized into meticulous lines.

"What is this?" Harry whispered. There was something about the photo, and expressions of all involved, that sent cold shivers down his spine.

Remus just gestured towards a paragraph about one-third the way down the article. Harry's eyes scanned it quickly.

_In order to secure the safety of the wizarding community..._

_New measure... approved by Ministry Council for General Defense..._

_Mass executions of traitors... Those in league with the uncontrollable Death Eaters..._

_"So we may no longer live in fear"... Says Blackwell..._

Harry's horror grew exponentially the more he read.

"They weren't even tried," came Remus' strained voice. Harry knew this hit Remus especially hard; Sirius was never properly tried for his "offenses," either. "How many innocents are being thoughtlessly murdered by Blackwell and her _Ministry_?" He said 'Ministry' like it was a curse.

Draco, who was now reading over Harry's shoulder, pointed grimly at a phrase towards the bottom of the page.

_1,317... _

_For the betterment of Society..._

_"Efficiency is key," Said Blackwell wisely..._

"How..." breathed Harry.

This time it was Remus who, with a shaking finger, pointed at a section of the article.

_The use of..._

Avada Kedavra

_For the betterment of Society, reassures Blackwell..._

Harry grew numb with shock, as if his body had been dunked into bath of ice-cold water, or a paralyzing potion: Now he knew why the people were organized into neat rows, why their faces were frozen despite the moving photo. A feeling of nausea rose within him.

"_Avada Kedavra?" _He cried with disbelief. "And they call the Death Eaters 'Dark'! How can they get away with this! How can the public... how..." He trailed off, gagging, too maddened to speak. Remus, as well, didn't speak, his face pale with emotion and memory.

"Hypocrisy is the bane of mankind," replied Draco dryly.

Harry's head snapped towards him. "How can you be so... so calm about this?" He accused. Draco's eyes hardened.

"It was bound to happen," he said. "Sooner or later."

"Yes but –" Harry paused momentarily. "-- But that doesn't mean –" He fell silent, his eyes lowered to the ground.

Remus sighed, and quietly rose from where he had been sitting. "I'll be in the garden," he murmured. Harry and Draco didn't look up as Remus exited the room.

There was tense moment where no one spoke, as Draco stared at Harry, and Harry at the floor.

After a few minutes, Draco's mouth opened. "I – ..." he trailed off, instantly regretting his breach of the silence. But the damage was already done.

"You what?" Harry said, sending a hard look the blond's way. Draco swallowed.

"I – look, I'm sorry," He managed to say. Harry started with surprise.

"... What?"

"I'm sorry," Draco repeated, feeling entirely out-of-character. _What the hell has Potter done to me?_

The aforementioned exhaled deeply while biting his lower lip. Draco tried not to stare. "I – I just don't know anymore, Draco."

Draco's brows furrowed. What was Harry talking about? He echoed his thoughts aloud.

"I don't know about _you_." Harry responded.

"W – What about me?"

Harry's eyes shot green fire. "Who are you, really? Which side are you on? Why do you – why – why _me_?"

Draco's jaw slackened in disbelief and betrayal. "What do you mean?" He breathed.

_"How do I know you're not a traitor?"_

Draco couldn't help it; he gasped. "What!" he cried.

"You heard me." Harry stood from his chair.

Draco rose as well, and took a step closer to Harry. "Is that what you really think?"

"I don't know. Why do you care?"

The Slytherin's eyes narrowed, and he took another step towards Harry. Harry made a move to retreat, but Draco's arm shot out and grabbed Harry's wrist. A strong sense of déjà vu drenched the air.

"Why do you think I care, you bastard," Draco whispered as he pulled Harry gently towards him.

_Ba-dum._

Harry felt a strong drum beating within his chest as he stared, incredulous, into Draco's eyes. He tried not to go cross-eyed as he glanced at Draco's nose and saw how close it was to his own.

_Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum._

"I – " But Harry was cut off by Draco's mouth covering his own. "Mmmpphh..." His hands gripped the back of Draco's pressed oxford blouse, causing it to look wildly disheveled.

– _baDUMbaDUMbaDUMbaDUM –_

Harry couldn't help it; he moaned and opened his lips, allowing Draco entrance. He felt his knees weakening, and tightened his hold on Draco.

Draco apparently noticed Harry's predicament, as he smiled against the brunette's mouth and wrapped an arm firmly around his waist, causing Harry to arch into him.

Draco bit Harry's lip in his surprise at feeling Harry's body so intimately against his own, and Harry made a strangled noise. Draco moved his lips from Harry's mouth to his cheek, and then neck; he was in the process of nibbling at the Gryffindor's collarbone – growing more and more aggressive as a result of the delicious sounds Harry was making, with his head thrown back and hair delectably ruffled – when –

FLASH!

Draco nearly dropped Harry in surprise at the sudden flare of light. Once his eyes regained their focus – their dilation wasn't helping any, either – he realized that he and Harry were no longer alone.

"Oh, _fuck."_

The room was full of wizards and witches, all with cameras, notepads and Quick-Note Quills.

"Mr. Malfoy," one immediately piped up, seemingly oblivious to what had been occurring at the moment of their arrival, "Is it true you and Harry Potter are having sexual relations? Are you aware you are wanted for high treason to the Ministry? Have you ever – "

Draco simply stood there, arms tightly around Harry. His face was developing a thin sheen of sweat, whether from anger or fear Harry couldn't tell.

Harry knew intuitively, though, that things were about to change – and certainly not for the better – _oh_ – his heart stopped with painful realization.

Oh, no.

Fuck, they know where Draco lived, lives, they _know_ – _They know – _

_Draco..._

* * *

**Note: **Firstly, thanks to everyone who reviewed so kindly :) Yes, feedback helps me update faster, as with most writers I imagine I'm happy everyone's enjoying the plot... which is going to get much, much more intense in the next and last chapters (about six or so more to go). And, just as a warning, things will get much darker. Although along with that comes a more intense relationship between Harry and Draco, so you can all look forward to that. Thanks for reading! 


	11. Isn't It Great, Isn't It Grand

**Title**:Carte Blanche

**Author**: Ryyne

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter is the wonderful work of J.K. Rowling. Also, this was inspired by/ (quite) loosely based upon A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens. Any plot elements in common with that brilliant piece of work are, then, not mine.

**Warnings**: Too much plot:) And slashiness.

**_Carte Blanche_**

_Draco simply stood there, arms tightly around Harry. His face was developing a thin sheen of sweat, whether from anger or fear Harry couldn't tell._

_Harry knew intuitively, though, that things were about to change – and certainly not for the better – oh – his heart stopped with painful realization._

_Oh, no._

_Fuck, they know where Draco lived, lives, they know – They know – _

_Draco..._

**Chapter Nine: Isn't It Great, Isn't It Grand**

Remus bent over his garden, closely inspecting the plants, both magical and mundane. Lately the weather had been exceedingly dry, and most of the herbs and flowers weren't taking well to the soil. The wolfsbane, most noticeably, was completely dead and shriveled. The sandy-haired man sighed. Getting his monthly potion was quickly becoming a close-to-impossible task, with increasingly stringent ministry laws, and his own 'underground' status.

"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!"

Remus started. It was a high, hysterical voice; and could almost be mistaken for a woman's.

He raised his eyebrows. _Draco?_

Running into the house, Remus was presented with a rather baffling scene. Ten or so people – they seemed to be tabloid reporters – surrounding Draco and Harry. Harry's hands were on Draco's shoulders, restraining him; Draco looked ready to attack the entourage. They didn't seem fazed at all, however, or so Remus thought – until...

"You! Werewolf!"

Remus blinked, and swiveled his head towards the voice. He was met with a long, slender, and precariously pointy wand in front of his nose. The face behind the wand was intense and determined, with dark, narrowed eyes.

"Please remove your wand," Remus told the woman politely; he had learned long ago to never, ever aggravate a situation unless absolutely necessary. The attention in the room abruptly shifted to the older man.

"As soon as you're where you belong, I will," she snarled.

Remus' brows furrowed. He'd never seen or met an activist-reporter before, really. Of course, they all supported Blackwell and the Ministry, but nowadays, it was a rare person who didn't. And besides, how could she know about Remus' condition? Granted, it wasn't exactly secret, but Remus wasn't open about it, either.

There was a small movement behind her, and Remus craned his head ever-so-slightly. A few other people had taken spots a few feet away from her her, wands also out, although others seemed to be trained on Harry and Draco. By now, Remus noted, they were almost in a figure eight pattern, one circle around Remus, and the other around his younger companions. The former auror's lips curled into a cynical smile of realization.

_Tsh. Typical fighting pattern – how unoriginal. They've really let go of themselves, haven't they?_

He casually tucked his hand into his robe pocket, and adopted a nonchalant, almost naïve, manner. "And where would that be, miss?" He asked, discreetly gripping his hidden wand.

"In a dog pound." She showed her teeth in a most unseemly sneer.

"But," Remus said, with an almost apologetic smile, "That would be an _auror's_ job, wouldn't it, miss?" He began to withdraw his hand from the baggy pocket that enveloped it.

The woman's eyes widened, realizing that she was caught. Her mouth opened to spit out a spell, but Remus pounced first.

"STUPEFY!"

At this, the entire room erupted into a frenzy of shouts and curses. Harry and Draco had also retrieved their wands, and were just barely managing to dodge the various spells that were being thrown at them.

Now, generally, Remus was a quick-thinker, and he prided himself upon it. Three against a dozen were impossible odds. There was no way the trio could ever hope to fight off the badly disguised aurors, no matter how inexperienced they appeared to be.

So in a moment of simple necessity, Remus leaped over to Draco and Harry (who were admirably holding their own), grabbed both their arms, and apparated clean out of the already-broken wards.

_Really_, Remus thought, as they reappeared in the thick, secluded forest Remus transformed in, _that was almost _too_ easy._

* * *

"How the _fuck_ did that happen?" Demanded a pacing, angry Draco. He glared at an inanimate tree stump, as if the entire ordeal was its fault. "Haven't you people heard of wards?" 

"There _were_ wards!" Harry retorted. "Somehow they got them down!"

"Impossible," scoffed Draco. "Those aurors were complete dumbasses. No way they could bring wards down."

"Well, then," mused an extraordinarily calm Remus, "they must've been already down before the aurors even arrived."

Draco looked at the werewolf incredulously. "Shouldn't you have felt it if they were already down?"

"No. When they were put up – oh, many years ago, I think in Harry's fourth or fifth year – I wasn't, erm, encouraged to participate. My condition could have compromised them." Remus smiled dryly, making it clear he thought the very notion was ridiculous. "So my magic isn't connected to them. I wouldn't have felt them being destroyed."

"So how did they fail, then?"

Remus blinked. "I... I'm not entirely sure, actually," he admitted. "I can't believe any of the people who put up the wards back then would have left any holes – and even if they had, the others would have felt it."

Harry's head suddenly snapped up, his eyes wide with realization. "Wait – who put up those wards, exactly?"

Remus considered the question, ticking the names off his fingers. "Dumbledore, of course, and Si – Sirius, Nymphadora Tonks, Alastor Moody, Kingsley – you know, the Order crowd – and, I believe," Remus smiled at this, "Fred and George Weasley." He chuckled. "Merlin knows why Dumbledore had them do it as well. Probably doubted they'd get killed in the War," he mused. "Well, he was partly right."

Harry groaned, running his hands through messy locks. "Damn. _That's_ how."

He received questioning looks from his two companions, and hastened to elaborate. "They're all dead."

Remus looked baffled. "If I'm not mistaken, Harry, George was very much alive the last time I checked. And as long as at least one of the participants is alive, the wards should still be perfectly intact."

Harry sighed deeply, a pained look flitting across his face. "Well – yes – but he might as well be dead, wards concerned. He's... he's a squib, now, because of Fred's dea...Fred." Harry said quietly. "No magic left at all. That's why the wards went down; they had no longer had magical wells to draw strength from."

"George Weasley, a squib?" Remus gasped. "Oh, dear... the poor boy," he murmured.

"How come you know this?" Draco demanded.

"He told me," Harry muttered, "the last time he visited. You were there, actually."

Draco's eyebrows disappeared into the blond fringe of his bangs; the memory coming back to him vividly. Of _course -- _that's what George had whispered to Harry! Draco scolded himself silently; _And you thought they were having some sort of affair._

"Yes, I remember," Draco replied softly, glancing at Harry. The young man was obviously ruffled, with flushed cheeks – despite the chilly, stagnant air of the forest – and a dark but fiery look in his eyes. Draco smirked, reminded of a phrase from a poem he had once read._ 'As one great Furnace flam'd, yet from those flames / No light, but rather darkness visible / Serv'd only to discover sights of woe...'_

Draco silently cursed at himself as the trio began to slowly navigate their way away from Grimmauld, through the woods. _You better watch yourself, Malfoy, or you'll become – _attached_ – or something._

At this thought, Draco nearly tripped over a large root that was protruding from the ground. _Attached? To Harry Golden-Boy Potter? _He snorted. _Likely._

He pointedly ignored the protesting drum in his chest as he plunged forward, deeper into the dense forest.

* * *

Remus breathed deeply as he slid into a chair at the village pub. The trio had managed to go clear through the forest separating Grimmauld Place and the small town nearby; they were now taking a small stop to regroup and figure out just what to do next. Draco had not-so-subtly told the others he needed a very strong, very quick alcohol fix, and Harry and Remus had conceded without hesitation. 

"Butterbeer, please," Remus told a rather well-proportioned waitress who had immediately approached their table. Harry echoed Remus' request (he'd never been one to take his hard liquor well), while Draco ordered a firewhiskey, on the rocks.

Once they received their drinks, they sipped in appreciative silence for a while, before returning to more pressing matters.

"So," Draco said in a flat tone, twirling his bright red straw between his fingers, "Where are we to live, now?"

"'We'?" Harry shot Draco a glare. "What's this 'we' you speak of?"

Draco returned the icy look. "Oh my, I'm ever so sorry, Harry dear, but I was under the impression that there's normally a 'we' after a few heated snogging sessions." He narrowed his eyes. "Perhaps I was in the wrong?"

Harry was silent, gaze turned downward and cheeks rosy. Draco went on. "And, by the way, why are you so pissed at me anyways? Don't tell me you're homophobic, or some such nonsense," he sneered.

"Of course not, that'd be being hypocritical," Harry shot back. "I – I'm just..." he trailed off, all of a sudden shy. "Never mind."

Remus, who was steadily going through his butterbeer while watching his two companions, coughed noticeably. "I'll just be going to the loo, then," he said quietly, and rose out of his seat, heading towards the back of the pub.

Draco watched him leave over Harry's shoulder. Once the older man was out of sight, he leaned closer towards Harry. "What?" he hissed. "You're what?"

"I'm just... worried, is all," the brunette muttered. "You're going to get killed, if you're not careful." _Like Sirius, _was the unspoken thought.

Draco smirked. "I'm always careful. If I get killed, it'll be of my own volition, you can be sure of that."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "And that's much better?"

"Of course it is, you prat. Wouldn't you rather choose your destiny instead of it being chosen for you?"

"I..." the former Gryffindor's eyes were wide with recognition. Somehow, Draco was much more like him than Harry had ever imagined. "Yes."

"See?" The blond half-grinned. He reached over to flick Harry's nose with his forefinger. "Now... why were you worried, again?" He winked.

Harry grinned in return. He knew when Draco was teasing him. "Because for some inexplicable reason, I care about you, you bastard. I'm not entirely sure why," he mused, as Draco looked curiously at him, stifling a smile of his own. "I mean, you're not _particularly_ intelligent, and you have a rather unusual sense of humor... I must be using you for sex," he joked.

Draco gazed at Harry intensely, and the atmosphere changed slightly, like a gentle shift in the breeze. "A part of me hopes that's true," he murmured.

There was a prickling feeling on the back of Harry's neck, and his head felt vaguely like a balloon. Light, high, and airy – a strong contrast to his throat, which had suddenly tightened. Harry found himself unable to speak.

Luckily, he didn't have to: Remus returned, plopping himself onto the seat. "So," the werewolf said cheerily, "Everything better? Kissed and made up?"

"Uh huh," Draco said, as he looked thoughtfully at Harry. "Well, except for the kissing part. You interrupted us before we got to that."

"Oops, silly me," Remus replied cheekily. "But we wouldn't want to scare away the patrons, now would we?" Draco replied with a rather devilish grin. "So, you two are, what, together now?"

Draco's grin disappeared. He blinked, taken aback by the frank question. He'd honestly never thought of it like that – like that sort of _commitment_. Malfoy's and commitment didn't tend to mix well.

"Yeah," answered Harry. Draco's head snapped towards him, and Harry raised an eyebrow. "Well, we _have_ had a few heated snogging sessions, haven't we, Draco dear?" He said, mimicking Draco's earlier accusation.

The blond just stared at his – what? boyfriend, with a rather acute blush interrupting his pale features. "I – I -" he stuttered.

"Speechless, Draco?" Mocked Harry sweetly. He leaned over to peck the Malfoy's cheek. "Well, I'm sure I can fix that, _later,"_ Harry leered suggestively. "I always thought you might be a bit of a loud one in –"

Harry was immediately (and effectively) silenced by Draco's mouth.

"Ah, young love," sighed Remus. "Isn't it grand?"

**TBC...**

* * *

**Note: Anticlimactic, wasn't that? The great 'get-together' scene, I mean. Well, not everything in life is soaked with drama. Some things just "happen." **

**Secondly, I got a bit of 'how in the world did the whole breaking-in-to-Grimmauld thing happen?' in reviews. I hope this answers half of the conundrum – the ward half – but _no worries_, the part about the 'invisibility'/secrecy of Grimmauld WILL be explained in due time :) It's all a part of a larger plan. ... Sort of.**

**Lastly: Thanks _so much_ for all the wonderful reviews! I was dancing in my chair (well, figuratively, at least). Yes. Reviews are definitely encouraging, whether they be (constructive) criticism or praise :) nudge, nudge, wink, wink**


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